Sherlolly OTP Challenge
by vicarwithableedingface
Summary: My attempt at the OTP challenge with the pairing of Sherlock and Molly. In the format of a continuous multi-chapter, rather than individual oneshots. Enjoy!
1. Holding Hands

_**A/N: Hello all, and welcome to my attempt at the 30 day OTP challenge. I will be using the Sherlock/Molly pairing :) However, due to exams, it won't actually be over 30 consecutive days, rather just whenever I have time, but I will aim to complete it by summer. **_

_**I aim to keep this chronological, and so the first prompt starts with an unestablished relationship.**_

_**Thanks for reading, please leave a review :)**_

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"It's fine John, you should go home and get some sleep. You've been here for over five hours," Molly said, raising her voice over his protestations.

It was the day after the shooting at Magnussen's office. Sherlock had not yet woken after being operated on, and John seemed determined to stay until he did. Mary had fallen asleep in a chair in the corridor, and Molly was now arguing on her behalf for John and Mary to return home, whilst Molly stayed at the hospital.

Finally, John seemed to concede. "Ok, but you have to phone me as soon as he wakes up," he said, before giving Molly a hug. "Thanks for staying Molls."

An hour later, Molly was sat in a plastic chair next to Sherlock, who remained unconscious, hooked up to a morphine drip. "Oh, Sherlock, why do you always have to get into these situations?" Molly murmured, brushing a stray black curl from his forehead. Seeing Sherlock look so vulnerable made her feel helpless, and reminded her of when he came to her for help to defeat Moriarty.

Taking his hand, almost to comfort herself, Molly pulled her chair closer to the bed. She thought back to that day, when Sherlock 'died.'

"_What do you need?"_ she had asked. _"You,"_ had been the simple reply, and she had known then and there that she would do anything for her consulting detective, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous it seemed. She only wished she could be of more help now, able to do more than just sit and wait.

As the hours passed, Molly found herself struggling to stay awake, and gradually succumbed to the exhaustion that washed over her.

Later that day, as the sun began to set, Sherlock woke, squinting as he adjusted to his surroundings. Still drowsy from the morphine drip, several half-formed deductions passed through his brain. "_Additional weight...warm left hand...hair in face,_" he thought, attempting to process his current situation. As his thoughts came into focus, and he fully awoke, he made the surprisingly pleasant deduction that Molly Hooper was lying across him, asleep, her petite hand in his.

Unwilling to wake her and end this encounter, Sherlock gently shifted in an attempt to be able to better gaze at his pathologist in the fading light. Suddenly, a burst of pain shot across his chest, causing him to flinch, waking the pathologist with a start.

"Sherlock? I'm so sorry! I – I must've fallen asleep!" she began to stutter, a deep red blush spreading across her cheeks as she went to move back from the bed. Before she could, however, his hand tightened around hers. "Don't," Sherlock said, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. Then, his uncharacteristic display of affection seemed to fully register with him. "I mean, please remain as you were. I found it, um, acceptable," he said, a hint of blush beginning to colour his cheekbones.

Smiling, his confession seeming to embolden her, Molly shuffled closer to the bed again, her hand still in Sherlock's. "So did I," she said, kissing him lightly, and snuggling closer to him.

And that was how John came to find them two hours later, both asleep, hands still entwined.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

_**A/N: Thank you for the lovely review 'shepweir always', and everyone else for all the follows! The prompt for this one is 'Cuddling Somewhere' Please read and review! :)**_

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When Molly woke, she found herself uncomfortably aware of the emptiness of her flat, and the space on the sofa next to her. "Sherlock?" she called out tentatively, hoping that her fears would not be confirmed.

Receiving no reply, she threw back the blanket that he must have placed over her when she fell asleep last night, and ventured into the kitchen, almost hoping that he would be experimenting on Toby, as at least then he would still be there.

But the kitchen was empty, and she sagged against the counter, feeling drained. He had left without saying goodbye, and she wouldn't see him for another six months.

_The previous night, Sherlock had arrived at her flat, hair windswept and coat collar turned up against the cold and rain. She had been taken by surprise, and simply allowed him in. _

_She had barely spoken to him since they had woken to John's shocked laughter at the hospital. Over the past months, their relationship had been awkward, as they avoided each other as much as was possible, only communicating to arrange autopsies and exchange the occasional limb._

_He had barely acknowledged her, and had stalked through to the living room, where he had stood waiting for her to close the door and follow him._

_As she entered the room, about to ask him what on earth he was doing at her flat at ten o' clock at night, he had taken two long strides across the room and kissed her, his hands running through her hair, tugging her towards him. With making a conscious decision to do so, she had kissed him back._

_Suddenly, she became aware of what was happening, and broke away, gasping. "What the hell was that?" she yelled, staring at him, not quite believing that this wasn't all some strange dream. "A goodbye," he replied, looking slightly offended._

"_A goodbye?"_

"_Yes. Mycroft is sending me away. Can't have your little brother going round murdering people, can you?"_

"_He can't do that, you're his brother! John told me what had happened; you saved the country from a psychopath. And you're not a murderer!" Molly said indignantly._

"_Unfortunately, not everyone is as forgiving as you," Sherlock replied. "I am being sent on a six month mission to Eastern Europe. I came here to say goodbye though, not debate my criminal status."_

"_Wait a minute. You ignore me for months, then come in here and kiss me like that, before telling me that you're going away for six months?" Molly frowned, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Sherlock shifted on the spot, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Only the thought of leaving made me realise how much I value your...companionship. So I came to see you as an experiment of sorts, to see whether my feelings truly had changed," he began. Upon seeing Molly begin to look angry again, he quickly continued. "My experiment had positive results. I...like you very much. To validate my results, I believe that we should kiss again."_

"_I do believe we should," Molly replied, tilting her head back and kissing him. As their lips parted, she spoke. "I will miss you Sherlock, please be safe. I didn't go to all the bother of saving you the first time only for you to go and get yourself killed now," she said teasingly, unaware of the painful accuracy of her words._

_ "I will miss you too, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said severely, before turning to leave, adjusting his scarf. "What are you doing?" Molly replied, and he stopped in his tracks. "You can't just leave like that. Come on, Dr Who starts in ten minutes, we can watch it together. You might even learn something about the solar system!"_

_ Despite some mutterings about "John's stupid blog" and "irrelevant information", Sherlock obliged, hanging his coat in the hallway before joining Molly on the sofa, after she fetched a mug of hot chocolate._

_ Forty minutes later, Molly had buried her face in Sherlock's silky purple shirt, refusing to look at the monster on the screen. "Don't be ridiculous, it's an actor in a prosthetic mask," Sherlock admonished, although he too jumped slightly as another Silence appeared from nowhere._

_ Another twenty minutes passed, and the TV was switched off. Molly tucked her feet up and nestled closer to Sherlock, who gently ran his fingers through her hair, his free arm wrapped around her, keeping her close. As Molly began to doze, her brown eyes covered by lilac eyelids, Sherlock felt a flash of panic at the thought of leaving, never to return._

_ Banishing all thoughts of leaving from his mind palace, he too began to sleep, although his arm remained secure around his pathologist._

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps in the hallway brought Molly back to the present. Arming herself with a rolling pin, she crept towards the door, hoping that she wouldn't have to use the makeshift weapon.

"Molly?" a voice called out. A very familiar voice. "Sherlock!" Molly cried out in relief, placing the cooking utensil back on the side, and rushing towards the hallway. The sight that met her had her in a fit of giggles. Sherlock stood laden down with a full Tesco bag in one hand and a bunch of forget-me-nots and violets in the other.

"Oh, I was hoping that I could prepare your breakfast before you woke," he said, sounding adorably put out. "Here, let me help you," Molly said taking the carrier bag through to the kitchen, and using its contents to make up a light breakfast for them both. As she set it down on the dining table, Sherlock presented her with the bouquet. "These are for you," he stated, holding them out.

"Oh thank you Sherlock, they're beautiful!" she exclaimed, taking them gently and placing them in an empty vase that stood conveniently in the middle of the table.

It was only after he had left her, kissing her lightly that she thought more about the meaning behind the flowers. '_Remember me forever'_ and '_faithfulness_.' "Oh Sherlock," she gasped quietly, holding back the tears that threatened to flow.


	3. GamingWatching a Movie

_**A/N: Sorry for the gap between updates, as I said I have exams :( Thanks for the reviews/follows!**_

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It had been a mere forty eight hours at most since Sherlock Holmes had left her flat, yet Molly already found herself missing the consulting detective. Outside, delicate white flakes were swirling in the wind, but rather than seeming beautiful, they served to remind Molly of the freezing conditions in Eastern Europe, hence her intense concentration on the autopsy she was currently finishing.

"Molly Hooper." The deep baritone voice echoed through the morgue. Molly looked up from the corpse of Mrs Paula Andrews, and wondered if working such long hours was finally beginning to affect her. "Sherlock? It can't be you – you're in Russia or somewhere!"

"My dear Molly, your deductive technique really does need some work, doesn't it? I am quite clearly not in Russia or somewhere as you so eloquently put it, but in fact here at St Bart's," Sherlock replied with a raised eyebrow, although his usual sarcastic tone was accompanied by the hint of a genuine smile.

Suddenly, the reality that Sherlock was standing in front of her, in the morgue, Belstaff and all, seemed to hit her, and Molly rushed towards him, enveloping him in a hug that smelt of cats and flowery perfume.

Then she pulled away. "I should, um, finish up with Mrs Andrews, and then maybe we could – if you want to – "

"Molly," Sherlock murmured, silencing her nervous chatter. "I shall help you clean up, and then you may accompany me to 221B if you wish, where I promise to explain the events of the past few days to you."

Molly smiled at Sherlock gratefully. "Thank you, that would be good."

And so it was that an hour later, Molly sat curled in John's old armchair, opposite Sherlock, who had just finished explaining how Mycroft had faked Moriarty's return to ensure that Sherlock was not exiled. "I knew Mycroft wouldn't do that to you!" she exclaimed, although truth be told, she was never quite sure with Sherlock's mysterious older brother. All of a sudden, she noticed the clock, which read 11:24pm. "Oh – I've just seen what time it is! I really should be going – sorry for staying so long!"

"Don't be ridiculous Molly," Sherlock interrupted, "I was the one who invited you here, and spoke for an hour."

"Even so, I should be going," she said, pulling her coat on.

Sherlock stood, waiting for his pathologist to finish wrapping her pink fluffy scarf around her neck, before following her to the door. He was about to say goodbye, when she opened the door, or at least attempted to. "Ah, it seems the weather has different plans to us," he said, gesturing to the three foot snowfall that was now preventing the door from opening fully. "You'll have to stay the night." At this, Molly blushed, and Sherlock seemed to realise the unintentional meaning behind his words. "I mean, you may sleep in my bed tonight." Molly giggled as Sherlock realised that his second attempt was if anything worse. "I know what you mean Sherlock, thank you for the offer. I don't think I have much choice anyway," she said with a smile.

They made their way upstairs, and Molly was supplied with an old, over-sized jumper which Sherlock retrieved from John's old room. After excusing herself to the bathroom to change, she entered the living room, finding Sherlock frantically searching for something, his back to her. "Sherlock?" she asked, curious towards the cause of his behaviour. Jumping, he turned towards her. "I, um, I had an idea. I have deduced that you do not sleep for long periods of time, and neither do I, so I propose that we watch a film, to avoid any awkward silences."

"That's a great idea Sherlock," she said, smiling inwardly at his adorable awkwardness. "What DVDs do you have?"

"Several physics documentaries, a recording of a nature programme, and multiple chemistry lectures," he replied, not seeming to realise that they were not really Molly's cup of tea.

"No rom coms, then?" Molly asked, almost teasingly.

"Personally, no, but John did used to keep a few for when he brought his numerous girlfriends over," he replied, turning towards another shelf. "Here they are, 'Love Actually', 'The Proposal' and 'I Give It a Year'."

"What about Love Actually?" she said, thinking of the cute actor who played John.

"I suppose so, if we must," Sherlock sighed, taking the disc out.

Half way through the film, Molly turned to Sherlock, interrupting his criticism of the "unrealistic nature of this piece of cinematic rubbish" and said "Are you really that opposed to romance?"

"Sentiment is a – "  
"Chemical defect" Molly finished his sentence, with a sigh. "Never mind."

"Molly," Sherlock said, taking her hand. "I was actually going to say, sentiment is a feeling that I only recently discovered, when I thought I would never see you again. It was what caused me to kiss you, and what continues to make me want to kiss you." Before he could continue his speech on sentiment, Molly pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Do you still want to kiss me?"

"Most definitely, Miss Hooper," he replied, a lazy smile stretching across his face. "I suppose this makes you my...girlfriend. Although I detest that term, I am willing to make an exception for you."

The following morning, Mrs Hudson brought Sherlock his 'morning cuppa' only to find that another would be necessary, as on the sofa were Sherlock and Molly, clearly having fallen asleep part way through a film as the TV remained on, the menu for 'Love Actually' on the screen. "Good morning dears!" she said brightly, thrilled that Sherlock had finally found a replacement for John. "Oh, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock muttered, squinting up at his housekeeper, sorry, landlady. "This is Molly Hooper, my pathologist... and girlfriend."


	4. On a Date

**A/N: Hi all! Just wanted to say a massive thanks for all the views, reviews and follows! The prompt is 'On a Date'. Please read and review! :)**

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**Where r u? - Molls xx**

**Double murder. SH**

Staring at the blunt reply, Molly felt a surge of anger. She had been sitting in the cafe for over twenty minutes, waiting for Sherlock. It was their second date since they had officially entered into a relationship, or at least, it was supposed to be. Avoiding the pitying gaze of the waitress, Molly got up to leave, firing off a quick message to Mary Watson as she did so.

**Sherlock stood me up :( - Molly**

A few minutes later, as Molly walked down the street, head down against the wind, her phone began to ring, playing a cherry ring tone that jarred against her current mood. "Hello Mary," she answered. "I take it you got my text?"

"Yeah, Sherlock can be so stupid sometimes for someone so clever," Mary replied, although she didn't sound as cross as Molly felt. "Remember though, John left me half way through our anniversary dinner to go chasing a serial killer, so I'll tell you now, you should probably get used to this kind of thing." Then, she hastily added, "Not that that excuses his behaviour, so feel free to slap him when you see him."

"Don't worry, I will," Molly replied, allowing herself to smile at the thought. "I'll let you go; I can hear Emma starting to cry." A wail from the Watson baby drowned out Mary's goodbyes, and then she hung up.

Meanwhile, on the other side of London, Sherlock was just finishing announcing his deductions to the members of New Scotland Yard. "...And so, the murderer was in fact Browner, who sent the ear in the box to – oh, damn!"

"Sherlock?" Greg queried, confused at the sudden change in Sherlock's thought process.

"I was supposed to be meeting Molly for lunch!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Gethin! Why didn't you remind me?"

"Firstly, my name is Greg, and secondly, I didn't even know you were dating Molly!" Greg replied, stunned at the revelation that Sherlock-bloody-Holmes had a girlfriend.

"Well then, what about you?" Sherlock said, rounding on John.

"Mate, this one's on you," John replied, holding up his hands. "If I were you, I'd go find her and grovel for forgiveness." Before he had finished speaking, Sherlock had already left the terraced house, and was on the street. Hailing a cab, he gave the name of the cafe where he was supposed to be meeting Molly, and prayed that she would still be there.

Twenty minutes of traffic later, and Sherlock found himself at the cafe, asking the waitress if she had seen a woman fitting Molly's description. "Yeah, she left about thirty minutes ago. Didn't look too happy," she said. "Hey, aren't you that detective bloke?"

"Yes, I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and thank you for your help," he replied distractedly, turning on his heel, coat sweeping behind him.

**Molly already left. What do I do? – SH**

**I wouldn't go to her flat mate, she's probably mad as anything! John**

Molly was indeed, 'mad as anything.' Fuming, she had returned to her flat, kicking her shoes into a corner, and throwing her coat at the sofa, narrowly avoiding Toby, who was curled in her usual seat. "I am not going to mope about feeling sorry for myself!" Molly thought, determined to show Sherlock Holmes that he was not the be all and end all.

Pushing all thoughts of Sherlock to the back of her mind, she remembered Meena, her assistant, mentioning a girl's night out that evening. Normally not one for parties or loud music, Molly had turned down her invite, but now found herself reconsidering.

After showering, Molly dressed in _that_ dress, then styled her hair, allowing it to fall in gentle waves down her back, before applying a subtle layer of make-up. She was just doing up her strappy heels when the doorbell rang. Not expecting anyone, Molly finished doing up her shoes and made her way carefully to the door.

The surprise that greeted her when she opened the door was a pleasant one. A smartly dressed man stood before her, holding a bunch of red roses. "Miss Hooper?" he asked, presenting her with the beautiful bouquet. "Yes?" she replied, spotting the waiting black limo, and wondering whether Mycroft was becoming politer in his kidnappings. "Please come with me. I'm under strict orders not to tell you anything," the chauffeur said, smiling at her.

Sighing, she complied, and slid into the car, holding the flowers and her clutch. The drive was a short one, and she soon felt the car pull to a stop. Looking out of the window, she saw that the car had stopped at 221B. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to smile, as she realised what was happening.

The chauffeur helped her out of the car and escorted her up the steps, where the door was unlocked, and he left her alone. Slowly, she climbed the stairs, which had been scattered with rose petals, feeling herself forgiving Sherlock with every step.

Reaching the top, she heard violin music gently filling the air, and stepped into the living room of 221B. Sherlock stood before her in his usual attire of black trousers and a purple satin shirt. Turning to face her, his expression turned to one of wonderment and joy. There was a pause before he spoke, as he admired her, then he said hesitantly, "My dear Molly. Please forgive me. I was...inconsiderate today. I most definitely do not deserve to call you my girlfriend, and I will understand if you wish to end our mutual arrangement."

"I most certainly do not wish to end our 'mutual arrangement' Sherlock," Molly replied, smiling mercifully at him. "I am annoyed that you forgot, but you have more than made up for it." He visibly breathed a sigh of relief, then said, "Well then, dinner is ready," gesturing to the table, which was for once clear of body parts, laboratory equipment and chemicals.

As they finished dinner, Molly decided to ask a question. "You didn't by any chance call in a favour from Mycroft for tonight, did you?"

"I borrowed one of his cars, if that's what you mean," Sherlock said, unwilling to admit that he had needed help from his big brother. Knowing how much it had taken for him to ask Mycroft for a favour, Molly beamed, reaching across the table and squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Thank you for tonight. This has been a lovely date."

"It was my pleasure," Sherlock replied. "Now that we are both finished eating, I would like you to accompany me to the roof."

"I will, so long as you promise to remain safely on top of it," Molly smiled, getting up from the table.

Once they had both wrapped themselves in coats and scarves, they climbed up to the roof terrace, where Sherlock had set out a blanket with cushions and pillows. "Oh, wow," Molly breathed, looking at the view over London as she seated herself on the blanket, leaning against Sherlock. "I have organised something to make the view a little more special," Sherlock said, looking at his watch. "It should begin in approximately ten seconds." Curious, Molly snuggled closer to Sherlock, gazing expectantly at the dark, night skyline of London. Suddenly, there was a whistling noise, and a trail of gold blazed upwards, ending with a loud bang as the firework exploded, printing glittering patterns onto the canvas of the sky.

The fireworks continued for a further ten minutes, culminating in a firework that seemed to engulf the sky, illuminating the city. "That was for me?" Molly asked, staring at Sherlock in awe.

"Of course. I am not a particular fan of fireworks, but I deduced that you were, so I reached out to my homeless network," he replied, then kissed Molly, allowing the fireworks to replay in her mind.


	5. Kissing

_**A/N: The prompt for this one is kissing, so here be fluff! As always, thanks for the support :)**_

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From the pavement outside Baker Street, twinkling lights could be seen in the window of apartment 221B, and the sounds of laughter and voices floated down towards where Molly stood in the gently falling snow, thinking about how much had changed since _that_ Christmas.

Since then, she had helped a man fake his own death, become engaged to different man, broken up with said fiancé, and found herself falling in love with the man she had saved.

Smiling to herself at the turn of events that had led to this point, she rang the bell, and waited patiently, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. Mrs Hudson opened the door, ushering Molly inside before she "gave herself pneumonia, being outside in that weather." Since Sherlock and Molly had made their relationship public, Mrs Hudson had treated Molly like the daughter she never had, fussing over her, and ensuring that she was always welcome at Baker Street.

They made their way upstairs, towards the sounds of a lively party. 221B was full to bursting, the relatively small apartment currently occupied by John and Mary, their baby daughter Emma, Mycroft and Anthea (who was most definitely not his goldfish, according to Mycroft, although the way she was currently sitting rather close to him suggested otherwise), Lestrade, Mr and Mrs Holmes, and, of course, Sherlock himself.

Stepping into the room, Molly felt Sherlock's attention being drawn to her immediately, his breath hitching in his throat as he took in every inch of her. "Hi everyone!" she said warmly, smiling at them all. A chorus of replies filled the air, and then they returned to their individual conversations, whilst Molly made her way over to where Sherlock was sat in his armchair, violin resting against its side. "Hello," she grinned, bending over and kissing him lightly on the lips, before straightening up, aware that he was not comfortable with public displays of affection. "You look...stunning, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said, a smile spreading across his face, "We could always jump ship, and return to your apartment? I'm sure my lack of festive cheer will not be missed." Molly raised an eyebrow, although smiled whilst doing so. "Much as that doesn't sound at all like a bad plan, I think the point of attending a Christmas Eve party is not to promptly disappear. Come on, I haven't spoken to your parents in ages, let's go and see them," she replied, waiting for him to grumble and stand up before crossing the room to where Violet and Siger Holmes sat on the sofa.

A bit over an hour later, the room quietened down as everyone gathered around to exchange gifts. It had been agreed that with Emma still being very young, and the drama of the previous Christmas, they would meet on Christmas Eve, and give out presents, before enjoying Christmas Day quietly and separately.

Emma's present were dealt with first, as she had received a small mountain of them, from everyone from her parents to Mycroft. Afterwards, as she sat playing happily with the wrapping paper, the adults swapped gifts. Without any warning, Sherlock threw a small parcel across the room to Mycroft, who turned from thanking Mrs Hudson for his new tie pin to be hit squarely in the nose with it. Frowning, Mycroft picked up the package. "I see domesticity is softening you, brother mine," he said, attempting to deduce its contents. Giving up, as Sherlock had been careful to keep it a surprise, he opened the packaging, and sighed at what he found. Upon seeing the packet of hair dye which promised to "get rid of grey hairs", Molly narrowed her eyes at Sherlock. "When I told you to get your brother something for Christmas, I meant something thoughtful," she said, her tone disapproving. "Don't worry, Miss Hooper, I am quite used to my brother's jibes by now," Mycroft replied, attempting to be mature.

The rest of the gifts Sherlock had given out appeared to be equally immature. These included a shaving set for John, a book on gun safety for Mary, and a 'Dummy's Guide to Deductions' for Greg, written by Sherlock himself. Molly had lost all hope of receiving a thoughtful gift from Sherlock, when he passed her a small wrapped box, rather than chucking it to her as he had with the others.

Opening it carefully, and slightly warily, Molly found a jewellery box inside. Opening it, she found a beautiful silver hair pin, simply decorated with a single emerald. "It's beautiful!" she exclaimed, leaning over to Sherlock and kissing him, causing him to blush as Lestrade winked at him. "I have your gift here," she said, turning and picking up a gift bag that she had kept safe all evening, handing it to him.

Curious, Sherlock removed the tissue paper, and pulled out his present. Before Sherlock could say anything, Mrs Hudson interrupted. "For goodness sake, another skull? He doesn't even dust the other one!" For the object that Sherlock now held was indeed a skull. Molly looked apologetic, and decided she should probably explain the rather strange gift. "Well, I thought that seeing as Sherlock doesn't talk to him anymore, Billy could do with some company. I got this one online. She's called Katie." Ignoring the surprised, and slightly concerned looks from the others, Sherlock replied with a grin across his face, "She's wonderful! Thank you Molly!"

The rest of the evening was less unusual, as the adults cooed over Emma, chatted, and had a few drinks. At about eleven o' clock, Emma began to get restless, so John and Mary said goodbye, and Lestrade, who was getting a lift from them, also left. It wasn't long before Mrs Hudson headed downstairs, citing the need to go and take her 'herbal soothers'. Within half an hour of John and Mary leaving, the apartment was empty apart from Sherlock and Molly, who were sat on the sofa, her heels discarded, feet resting on Sherlock's lap, as they enjoyed the peace and quiet.

Finally, Molly made the move to leave, standing up and putting her shoes back on. Having put her coat on, she turned around to say goodbye to Sherlock, and found him holding her new hair pin. "You forgot something," he smiled, sliding the pin into her curls. Looking up at Sherlock, Molly felt herself melting. Then, she noticed something. "You put up mistletoe?" she grinned mischievously, knowing full well that it had probably been Mrs Hudson. "No," Sherlock replied, confused by the sudden change of topic. "Do you know what that means?" Molly said, smiling even wider. "You have to kiss me."

"Do I really?" Sherlock said, smirking as he understood. As he leant towards her, slowly wrapping his arms around her, the clock struck twelve. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," he whispered, and his lips met with hers.

The following morning, a trail of discarded shoes and clothing could be found from the living room to the closed door of Sherlock's bedroom. Inside, Molly stirred, and slowly opened her eyes, meeting Sherlock's. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered, realising that this was already the best Christmas she had ever had, and it was only six in the morning. She told him this, and he replied, "I think I may be able to make it better. Molly, would you like to live at 221B?"

"Yes!" she giggled, "Although we should probably check with Mrs Hudson first."

"I think we can let her sleep a little longer before we go and ask," Sherlock said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and leaning in to kiss his new flatmate.


	6. Wearing Each Others' Clothes

_**A/N: Thank you so much for all the follows, favourites and reviews! I can't believe that this has had over 4000 views! The prompt is 'Wearing Each Others' Clothes'. Please read and leave me a review to let me know what you think :)**_

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Molly was sitting outside Lestrade's office, waiting for Sherlock to finish impressing everyone with how he had deduced the identity of the serial killer who had just been arrested. It wasn't that she minded waiting for him, or even that the impromptu chase after the killer had interrupted their date. It was the fact that coming to Scotland Yard inevitably meant facing the sneers of Sally Donovan, who had not changed her ways like Anderson had.

Circling like a shark that had smelt fresh blood, Donovan approached, closing in on Molly. "Still hanging around with the Freak?" she said, smirking as Molly flushed bright red. "I'll take that as a yes. I wouldn't worry though, won't be long before he gets bored."

"Please leave me alone," Molly pleaded, not meeting Donovan's eyes, praying that Sherlock would appear to save her, as she tended to avoid insulting Molly in front of him. "Why? Scared I'm right? Or maybe you're just as much of a freak as he is." She paused for a moment, seeming to consider what other cruel taunt would hurt the most. Then, very deliberately, she said, "I heard that you weren't one of Moriarty's targets. Guess you weren't important enough to matter."

At this, Molly bit back a sob, and stood up, walking away as quickly as possible. "Hit a nerve, did I?" Donovan called out after her, and upon receiving no reply, went back to what she was doing. It was another ten minutes before the door of Lestrade's office opened. Sherlock, John and Lestrade stepped out, and Sherlock turned to where Molly had been sat.

When he couldn't find her, he scanned the room, and spotted a smug looking Donovan by the water cooler. "Donovan..." he growled under his breath, his eyes narrowing. When she saw them staring at her, Donovan crossed the room, grinning. "What did you do to Molly?" Sherlock said, radiating anger.

"I just pointed out some facts that she didn't seem to like," she replied, before returning to her desk, impervious to Sherlock's glare.

"I'm going after Molly, it must have been bad, she normally doesn't react to Donovan," Sherlock said to the others, flicking his coat collar up before striding out of the room, his coat swirling behind him. "I really wouldn't want to be Donovan right now," John muttered to Lestrade as Sherlock left, looking concerned.

A few streets away, Molly was already soaked through to her skin in the pouring rain, shivering as she headed towards her destination, feeling anxious and upset, cursing Donovan and her own stupid doubts as she walked. "What if she's right?" said the little voice in the back of her mind. "What is this is all some sort of experiment?"

"Shut up!" Molly yelled out loud, to the bewilderment of an elderly couple who were passing her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean you!" Molly said, as they began to argue with her, before continuing on her way.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was tearing through the rain, with a clear idea of where Molly was headed. Whenever she got upset, she would visit her father's grave, so she had probably gone there now, a place about thirty minutes from Scotland Yard. Normally, he would have let her go, as she seemed to want time alone. However, the rain was falling heavily, and the wind was howling, whilst Molly only had a cardigan and a scarf with her. If he didn't find her soon, she'd make herself ill from the cold and wet weather.

It took Molly a further ten minutes to reach the graveyard, by which point she was almost numb from the cold, and her shivering had become out of control. Curling up next to the marble gravestone, she gradually regained some calm, slowing the tears and her breathing. Suddenly, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and she looked up to find Sherlock crouching next to her, an expression of concern on his face.

"Molly?" he said hesitantly, unsure of how to deal with the crying woman. She didn't respond, refusing to meet his eyes, making herself seem as small as possible. Realising that she wasn't ready to explain exactly what had happened at Scotland Yard, or leave, he slowly removed his Belstaff and draped it around her petite frame, allowing the rain to soak his satin shirt.

Molly made a weak attempt to protest, but Sherlock refused to take it back. Five more minutes passed, and then Molly got to her feet, still shivering despite the coat. "Let's go home, you m-must be free-freezing," she said to Sherlock, her teeth chattering. Feeling guilty about having taken his coat, she took off the pink fluffy scarf that she was wearing, and tied it around Sherlock's neck. Hiding his inner disgust at the offending item, Sherlock gave Molly's shoulders a quick squeeze, then attempted to hail a cab.

Luck didn't seem to be on their side, with Sherlock grumbling about "of all the times" and "how many of them owe me a favour?" as multiple cabs passed them by without stopping, one even splashing them as it drove through a puddle. Eventually, they gave up, trekking across London, the rain continuing to pour.

It took them almost an hour to arrive at 221B, by which point their lips had turned blue, and their hair was dripping wet. Mrs Hudson opened the door to them, and immediately told them to go and take a hot shower, whilst she prepared hot drinks for them both, although she couldn't help but giggle at the pink thing that adorned Sherlock's neck.

Once they had both showered, they changed into warm pyjamas and slippers, and huddled together on the sofa, covered by blankets brought up by Mrs Hudson. Sherlock let Molly finish drinking her hot chocolate before speaking. "Molly, now that we are both dry and you have calmed down, could you tell me what exactly Donovan said that upset you so much?"

Molly took a deep breath before answering. "It's going to sound really silly and petty, but she said that, well, that I didn't matter enough to you for Moriarty to threaten me." Having said it out loud, it sounded even more stupid, she thought, preparing for the worst. Instead, Sherlock's looked surprised, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility that Molly might have thought she wasn't important to him. He spoke in a rush, keen to allay her fears. "Molly Hooper, don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't important to me. You are. I love you Molly, and just because Moriarty couldn't see that doesn't mean it isn't true. So if she ever says anything like that again, I will personally see to it that she loses her job, as she is clearly incompetent at deducing anything. And – Molly, what's wrong? What did I say?" Sherlock paused in the middle of his speech, realising that she was no longer listening properly.

"You said that you loved me," Molly said, looking stunned.

"Of course, I thought that was obvious. I understand if you don't feel the same w – " Sherlock replied, seeming worried that he had done something wrong.

Molly interrupted him before he could continue. "Sherlock, I love you too." A grin spread across his face.

Suddenly, a squeak was heard through the door, sounding suspiciously like Mrs Hudson, who had apparently been eavesdropping the entire time. Winking at Molly, Sherlock innocently called out, "Mrs Hudson?" after which footsteps could be heard hurrying down the stairs.

"Sherlock, don't tease," Molly scolded him, or at least began to, as he suddenly pressed his lips to hers, making it quite impossible for her to continue.


	7. Cosplaying

**_A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites etc. I know this is a bit short, but at least I've managed two consecutive days! :)_**

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"Oh, you all look fantastic!" Mrs Hudson gushed, "I must get a photo!" Sherlock went to protest, but Molly gave him a sharp dig with her elbow. It was seven in the evening, and Sherlock, Molly, Mary and John were gathered at 221B, ready to depart for the party at Scotland Yard. Sherlock wasn't keen on social events of any sort, but this one was particularly bad. It was a fancy dress party.

When Greg had invited them, Sherlock had flat-out refused, but then when Greg had forwarded the invite to Molly, she had decided that it would be fun, and had set about planning a group theme with Mary, much to Sherlock's disgust - John having long ago accepted that there was no arguing with Mary when she set her mind to something.

As a result, the five of them (John and Mary were taking Emma) now resembled the Scooby Doo gang. Mary was dressed as Daphne, John as Shaggy, Molly as Velma and Sherlock as a (very reluctant) Fred. Emma, who now almost 18 months old, was dressed in a onesie that resembled Scooby Doo, which had been declared "adorable" by Molly and "ridiculous" by Sherlock.

Once a photo had been taken, the group stepped outside to where one of Mycroft's cars was waiting for them. It wasn't long before they arrived at the Yard, with Sherlock still whining petulantly.

Before they could step into the function room were the party was being held, they were blinded by a flash of light. When they regained their vision, Greg Lestrade was standing in front of them dressed as Inspector Clouseau and holding a camera, the source of the light. "One for the blog, eh, John?" he said with a grin as Sherlock scowled.

"Yeah, Sherlock in fancy dress certainly isn't something you see every day," John laughed. Whilst the men got into conversation about John's blog, and a recent case, Mary passed John their daughter, and headed towards the dance floor with Molly.

After chatting for about ten minutes, John noticed that his and Sherlock's other halves had left them, and scanned the room for them. Spotting Mary dancing and talking to a young, attractive police officer, he turned to Sherlock. "Is it ok if I leave Emma with you and go and stop my wife chatting up that bloke?" he half-joked, knowing that Mary wouldn't be flirting with anyone else, but unsure whether Sherlock would want to be left with a baby.

"I suppose so," Sherlock sighed dramatically, although he was secretly pleased to have an excuse not to have to dance.

Once John had left, Sherlock found himself gazing at Emma, and imagining what his own child would be like. Obviously it would be intelligent, with Sherlock and Molly for parents, and ideally would have Molly's kind brown eyes and patience, although he rather hoped it would have his curls. Suddenly becoming aware of what he was considering, he became startled, as he had never before even entertained the possibility of children. "Sentiment," he murmured to Emma, rocking her slightly as she stirred.

His contemplation was interrupted by a loud and obnoxious voice. "They let you near the little brat then? Or did you take this one?" Sally Donovan sneered, arms folded, eyebrows raised at the sight of Sherlock holding a baby. She was dressed oddly appropriately, as the Wicked Witch from '_The Wizard of Oz_.' Taking a deep breath, Sherlock restrained from replying, simply humming a nursery rhyme under his breath to stop Emma waking.

Meanwhile, Mary, John and Molly were standing chatting across the room. John was just telling the women a story about the time he found Sherlock doing karaoke in the living room 'for a case' when he looked up and saw Donovan confronting Sherlock. "Oh for God's sake!" he exclaimed, Mary and Molly falling quiet as they looked at where he had been looking. "Can she not leave him alone? At least Anderson seems to regret what he did!"

As Mary, Molly and John made their way over to support Sherlock, Donovan's verbal abuse continued. "Someone told me that you were made the Godfather – bet she turns out to be a freak like you," Donovan said spitefully. At this, Sherlock found he was unable to contain himself any longer. He could ignore her insulting him, but Emma was _not_ a freak. His deep baritone voice cut through what Donovan was saying. "Don't speak like that about her. What kind of pathetic person takes out their frustration at their sad life on a baby? I won't hit you, as you're a woman, but –"

"I will," Molly interrupted, having overheard the end of their conversation as she approached, and with that slapped Donovan across the face. Then, with impeccable timing, Emma emptied the contents of her stomach by projectile vomiting all over Donovan, managing to avoid getting any on herself or Sherlock.

The room fell silent, then someone began to clap, and the various police officers who had witnessed Donovan's constant bullying of Sherlock and Molly filled the room with applause. Donovan scowled at Molly, before leaving the room. Once the applause died down and the party continued minus Donovan, Sherlock beamed at Molly, and Mary clapped her on the back, whilst John took Emma back, proclaiming loudly, "That's my girl!"

Greg came over, and Molly suddenly realised that hitting someone in a room full of police may not have been the best plan. "I know I should be arresting you, or at least giving you a reprimand, but that was absolutely brilliant!" he said, grinning, to Molly's relief. Then, turning to Emma, he said "Who's a clever girl, eh?"

The only thing that managed to top the evening was the next day, when Molly received a text during a postmortem. It simply read:

**Donovan fired. SH**

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_**A/N: I know in the BBC canon, Sherlock likes to dance, but I didn't think he'd be comfortable dancing in front of people he didn't know well.**_


	8. Shopping

_**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews/follows etc, please keep them coming! :) Sorry that this is a bit short, I promise the next one will be longer!**_

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"Do I have to come?" whined Sherlock, pouting like a five year old.

"Yes," Molly replied sternly, refusing to give in to his puppy-dog eyes. "It is our Goddaughters first birthday, and we need to get her a present."

"But why? She's not old enough to understand that it's her birthday. She'd be happy with a cardboard box!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"That is not the point!" Seeing that his protests were in vain, he sighed deeply and stood.

"You owe me a set of eyeballs," he sulked.

And so it was that two hours later, Molly was cooing over stuffed animals, and baby clothes, whilst Sherlock followed her, absorbed in his mind palace. Suddenly, he was jolted out of it by a tap on his arm. "Sherlock?" Molly tried to get his attention. "I was saying, do you want to go have a look for chemistry texts or something in the book shop downstairs? I can tell you're bored, and I'll meet you in a bit?"

"Thank you!" Sherlock grinned, suddenly cheering up, pecking Molly on the cheek before practically skipping out of the shop glad to escape the hell that was Mothercare.

It took Sherlock precisely eighteen minutes to get kicked out of Waterstones, after a series of insulting deductions when the assistant failed to find him the book he was looking for. Now, he was wandering aimlessly around the centre, wishing that Molly would just choose a present and rescue him from this boredom.

Then a display on his left caught his eye. Almost surprising himself, he entered the shop, and began to browse. Searching through his mind palace, and a specific room, he narrowed down his choices, before spending thirty minutes agonising over which of his two alternatives was the best.

Finally, he left the shop with a small, square box in his jacket pocket, satisfied that he had made the right choice. When his eyes found Molly in the crowds, the box began to feel like it was burning a hole in his pocket, and he felt a rush of nervous energy. It would have to wait until the time was right though, so he calmed himself, and tried to forget about the purchase that he had made.

"There you are," Molly greeted him. "I thought you were going to be in Waterstones?"

"I had a, um, disagreement, with one of the employees," Sherlock replied with a wink, knowing that his pathologist couldn't stay mad at him for long.

"I can't leave you alone for more than five minutes!" she sighed exasperatedly, although she couldn't hide a small smile. "Anyway, I've found something, so if you come with me, you can see if you like it."

They made their way over to Mothercare, where Molly had picked out a cuddly toy rabbit. Sherlock agreed on the condition that it was named Bluebell, thankful that his ordeal was over, and that there would be no more looking at blankets, stuffed animals and picture books.

Approaching the till, they were served by a friendly lady who smiled warmly at them. "Congratulations, is it your first?" she said as she and Molly made small talk and Sherlock waited impatiently. Molly turned bright red, stammering, "Oh, no, I'm not – I mean, we're not parents. It's for my – our, goddaughter!"

Sherlock turned a bit pink too, but couldn't help imagining a little version of him or Molly running around in an over-sized lab coat holding a magnifying glass, an image which he quietly stored away in his mind palace, in a room labelled 'Molly'.

As they left the shop, Molly still red, but smiling to herself when she thought he couldn't see, Sherlock felt even more certain that he had made the right decision concerning his purchase earlier. He would spend the rest of his life with Molly Hooper; he just needed to decide when to produce the ring that currently occupied the box in his jacket.


	9. Hanging Out With Friends

_**A/N: Wow! 50 follows, and over 7000 views! Thank you so much! Please continue to review, I love reading them all :) Anyway, here's the next chapter, and like I promised, it is quite a bit longer than the last one.**_

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Waiting for Molly to finish getting ready, Sherlock stood in the hallway of 221B, checking his pocket once again, determined that everything would go to plan. Foot tapping impatiently on the floor, he looked at his watch. Sherlock had made sure that he was ready on time, knowing that John would kill him if he was late to Emma's first birthday party, but Molly was still doing whatever it was she did to get ready.

After what seemed like forever, Molly appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a pretty floral dress and mid-heels, her auburn hair gently curled. As he gazed at her, Sherlock took a moment to appreciate how lucky he was that she had waited for him, put up with all his manipulating and whining over the years, trusting that he would finally see what was right in front of him.

Then Molly spoke, breaking his quiet contemplation. "I'm sorry I took so long, are you ready to leave?"

"You are beautiful, Molly Hooper," Sherlock stated, apparently not having heard her question. Molly blushed, still occasionally surprised by this softer side of Sherlock, stopping on the bottom step, which made her the same height as Sherlock.

Being so tantalisingly close to her lips, Sherlock couldn't help but kiss her, forgetting all about being late for Emma's party. Eventually Molly pulled away, pointing out that they were already running fifteen minutes late, and they departed Baker Street together, Mrs Hudson having left earlier.

When they rung the doorbell of the Watson household, John answered, greeting them warmly and inviting them into the living room. There, they were then greeted by Mrs Hudson, Greg, Mary, Mycroft and Anthea (who was now officially his goldfish). "Unc' 'Lock!" Emma exclaimed when she saw the newcomers, waving her arms excitedly. Despite his usually rather cold demeanour, Sherlock had been proven to be good with kids, and immediately stooped to pick Emma up for a hug, even planting a kiss on her forehead. "Hello," he smiled, bouncing her gently.

Molly smiled at the sight, quickly snapping a photo on her iPhone before he could stop her, promising to send it to Mary. "Can she have her present now?" Molly asked, getting a wrapped up Bluebell out of her bag.

"Yeah, sure," John replied, slightly unsure of what Sherlock would have deemed a suitable gift for an infant, although he was reassured by the fact that Molly wouldn't have let him get their daughter anything too gruesome.

When the gift was revealed to be a glow-in-the-dark stuffed toy rabbit named Bluebell, John burst into laughter, joined by Sherlock's deep chuckle, much to the confusion of everyone else, Mycroft looking particularly displeased at being out of the loop.

Later, as Mary served homemade lemon sponge to everyone, Sherlock pulled John aside, tugging him through to the hallway. "John, I need you to tell me something. Do you think that Molly deserves better than me?" he asked, his tone serious.

"Occasionally, yes," John teased, then, realising that Sherlock was being completely serious, continued, "Seriously, though, no. She chose you, and you love one another, so you deserve her."

Then, his tone turning joking again, he added, "Blimey, I never thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes asking for advice on girls!" Then he clapped him on the back and returned to the living room, unknowingly leaving Sherlock to prepare for what he was about to do, assuming that Sherlock had just chosen an odd moment to ask for some advice.

A moment later, Sherlock took a deep breath and entered the room, striding across to where Molly was stood by the fireplace. Taking Molly's hand, he got down onto one knee, a stunned silence falling across the room. Molly blinked in surprise, her heart pounding.

After swallowing nervously, Sherlock began to speak. "Molly. I have known you for over nine years. For most of that time, I chose to ignore you and my own feelings. Then you saved my life, and as you stopped me falling, I fell for you. I recently realised that I couldn't live without you, both literally and metaphorically. So Molly, I am asking you if you will marry me, and do me the honour of becoming Molly Hooper-Holmes?" As he finished speaking, he produced from his pocket a small velvet box, and opened it, revealing a delicate, white gold ring, simply finished with a single diamond.

"Yes!" Molly exclaimed, and Sherlock placed the ring on her finger, and then stood, kissing her deeply, forgetting about all of their friends being in the room, watching.

John was the first to react, grumbling, "Trust you to steal the limelight on Emma's birthday," although he couldn't pretend to be annoyed for long, especially when he saw how happy both his friends were. Getting up, he gave Sherlock a (manly, back-slapping) hug.

Mary, Mrs Hudson and Anthea were all grinning, and crowded around Molly, congratulating her, and admiring her ring, whilst Greg followed John's example, congratulating Sherlock and hugging him. Mycroft remained seated, muttering about sentiment, but was unable to keep from glancing at Anthea slightly wistfully, picturing her wearing a simple gold band on her ring finger.

Despite his relatively calm exterior, inside, Sherlock was celebrating, relieved that Molly had agreed, as despite his confidence that she would, he had secretly been a little terrified of rejection.

Meanwhile, Molly still couldn't quite believe it, and was trying to get her head around the idea of becoming Molly Hooper-Holmes (she thought the alliteration had a nice ring to it). "He proposed!" she said to the women gathered around her, to which they all giggled, hugging her and discussing what colour the bridesmaids should wear. "Just make sure he doesn't get too into the wedding planning," Mary laughed, recalling her own wedding.

"Don't worry, I'll let him choose a suit and that's it," Molly replied, glancing at Sherlock and grinning.

"You kept that secret!" Greg said, shaking his head at the thought of _Sherlock, _of all people, getting married. "I take it John will be best man?"

"Of course, Gerald," Sherlock replied, as though Greg were an idiot for having to ask.

"That's not his name!" John exclaimed, covering his happiness at being declared Sherlock's best friend.

The celebrations continued in this manner, with Emma not being forgotten, as it was her party after all, until Mary declared it Emma's bed time, and they all said their goodbyes, Sherlock and Molly leaving last.

In the cab, Molly turned to Sherlock, still beaming as she had been all afternoon. "That was wonderful, thank you," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"I suppose I should ring my parents when we get in, before Mycroft tells them first. They're going to be a nightmare," Sherlock said, as though it would be an ordeal, but his eyes betrayed his delight at their engagement. At these words, Molly suddenly felt a little sad; her own parents had both died years ago, so they wouldn't see her get married, and her father wouldn't walk her down the aisle. Sherlock deduced the cause of her sudden quietness, and gave her hand a squeeze, smiling at her softly.

As predicted, when Sherlock called his parents from 221B, his mother was thrilled, scolding Sherlock for not telling her that he was going to propose, before congratulating him excitedly, and his father was quietly pleased, his smile evident in his voice.

Finally, after all the excitement of the day, Sherlock and Molly fell into bed, exhausted but ecstatic. Molly fell asleep first, and Sherlock simply lay for a moment, admiring his wife to be, and recalling his words from earlier, murmuring them quietly, so as not to wake her, although he added a word.

"You are beautiful, Molly Hooper-Holmes."


	10. With Animal Ears

_**A/N: Sorry that this chapter focuses more on Sherlock than it does on Molly, but I just couldn't resist writing some fluff about Sherlock and Emma :) Once again, thank you for all the support, and please drop me a review, they are excellent motivation ;)**_

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"I'm really sorry to have to dump her on you like this, especially on Valentine's Day," Mary said, passing Emma over to Molly in her car seat.

"It's fine, honestly. We hadn't planned anything anyway. Just enjoy your weekend in Paris," Molly reassured her, smiling at her friends.

"Thanks again for doing this," John said, as he and Mary gave Emma a final kiss goodbye before leaving for their weekend away.

Once their friends had left, Molly unstrapped Emma from her carrier, and bounced her on her hip, making her way through to their flat, which had been cleared of anything dangerous to a baby prior to the visit. Sherlock followed, looking forward to a relaxed Valentine's Day with just Molly and Emma, and no cases dragging him away.

As much as Sherlock was fascinated by Emma and her development, and always affectionate towards her, he usually let Molly entertain her, as she was better at understanding what was suitable entertainment for a one-year old, as had been proven when he had attempted to read Emma 'A Brief History of Time' by Stephen Hawking the last time they had babysat for the Watsons.

Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, simply enjoying watching his fiancé playing with Emma, although he sometimes wished they would play more intellectual games. After all, Emma didn't have much chance of progressing beyond the level of ordinary people if her parents and Auntie Molly insisted on playing ridiculous games such as "Peek-a-Boo!" with her.

They had been playing these games and reading picture books together for an hour or so when Molly's mobile rang. Handing Emma over to Sherlock, Molly answered the call, wondering if Mary had forgotten something. "Hello?"

"Hi Molly, it's Mike," the voice on the other end replied, sounding apologetic. "I'm really sorry, I know it's your day off, but Meena is off sick, so would you be able to come in and cover for a few hours, until her shift is over?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Molly sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Thank you so much, you're a life saver," Mike answered, sounding relieved. "I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

The phone hung up, and Molly looked over at Sherlock and Emma. "I've got to go in, Meena is off sick and they need me to cover," she said. "Will you be alright looking after Emma while I'm gone? I should be back in time to do dinner."

"Yes, I can actually teach Emma something without being told she's too young to understand. Did you know that infants have the potential to be much more intelligent than we –"

"Thanks Sherlock," Molly interrupted, stopping him before he could get into his speech. "Bye bye Emma," she added, giving her goddaughter a wave and leaving the flat.

"Well now, what shall we do?" Sherlock said to Emma, considering the possibilities. "Hawking was a bit too advanced for you, I will admit, so something more your level?" Placing Emma carefully in the portable cot (he couldn't believe how much stuff one small child needed), he paced the room, thinking of ways to educate Emma so that she didn't become _ordinary_.

A piercing cry penetrated the walls of his mind palace, bringing his attention back to Emma. "What do you want now?" he exclaimed, knowing that she had been changed and fed recently. Picking his goddaughter up, he patted her back, walked up and down with her, and offered her Bluebell, but nothing stopped her crying.

With an exasperated sigh, he once more placed her in the cot, whilst he retrieved and unfolded the buggy from where it rested against the door, hoping that some fresh air would be all Emma needed to calm down. After strapping Emma into the contraption, he pulled on his Belstaff and navy scarf, slung the bag of baby things over his shoulder, and made his way carefully down the stairs.

Exiting 221B, they made their way along Baker Street, Emma still bawling, and Sherlock wondering what to do. It was then that his mobile rang, alerting him to a text. Pausing to read the message, Sherlock had an idea. Lestrade was asking for his assistance at a murder scene at a house near Waterloo station. This would provide both an opportunity to educate Emma, as well as an interesting destination for their outing.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock was getting off the tube, grateful to escape the women who had spent the tube journey cooing over Emma and attempting to flirt with him. It only took a five minute walk from there for them to reach the crime scene, which had been cordoned off with police tape. Outside the house, Sherlock took Emma out of the pushchair and strode into the house, before any of the police outside could stop him.

When Greg Lestrade turned to greet Sherlock, he was horrified to see that Emma was accompanying Sherlock. "You can't bring a baby to a crime scene, Sherlock!"

"Why not? She isn't old enough to understand, as you all keep telling me, and it's an educational opportunity," Sherlock replied indignantly.

Seeing that he wouldn't win this argument, and aware that his chances of solving this as quickly as Sherlock were slim, Greg gave in. "Fine, but if John finds out about this, I was completely against it," he sighed.

Half an hour later, Sherlock had deduced the murderer, motive, and weapon, as well as the murderer's current location, and Emma was behaving perfectly, and had stopped crying. "I'll come and apprehend him with you," he said, rocking Emma.

"You are not chasing after a murderer with a baby, that's where I draw the line!" Greg stated, adamant that he would not have to explain to John why his baby had been involved in some sort of shoot-out.

Pouting, Sherlock realised that he had pushed his luck far enough, and departed, placing Emma in her pushchair again. Returning to Waterloo Station, Sherlock boarded a tube to South Kensington station, pushchair in tow. After enduring another journey full of fawning over Emma, he reached his intended destination – the Natural History Museum.

They spent three hours there, stopping only for Sherlock to change Emma and feed her. Although Sherlock thought they were overrated, the dinosaurs were definitely Emma's favourite part, particularly the large animatronic t-rex. Sherlock had been slightly worried that she would start crying when faced by a giant, roaring dinosaur, but instead she simply giggled, exclaiming, "Good doggy!" He was unsure whether to be impressed by her bravery, which she must have inherited from John, or appalled at her lack of knowledge concerning animals.

Their trip to the museum ended at the gift shop, with the purchase of a picture book about dinosaurs, as well as a set of donkey ears which Emma had taken a shine to.

Both exhausted, they returned home, where Sherlock attempted to put Emma to bed. Unfortunately for Sherlock, she suddenly decided that she had more energy left, and demanded to play. Getting out the bag containing the book and donkey ears, he tried to interest her in the images of various dinosaurs, but she grabbed at the ears instead and attempted to place them on Sherlock's head. "I am not wearing them," Sherlock said, gently taking the ears away. As soon he did so, Emma began to wail, and refused to stop. "Oh, for goodness sake," he sighed, and seeing no other way of getting Emma to quieten down, placed them on his head, feeling utterly ridiculous, and glad that no one could see him now.

Lying down on the sofa, Emma on his chest, he allowed her to quietly giggle at his new headgear.

Meanwhile, Molly was finally finishing up at the morgue, having ended up working a full day, instead of just covering a shift. Putting the corpse of Mr Collins away, she cleaned up, put her lab coat away and left for 221B.

Sitting in the cab on the way home, she worried herself with thoughts of all the things that could have gone wrong leaving Sherlock alone with Emma. What if he had spilt acid on her while trying to teach her about titrations? What if he had got her watching CSI?

Therefore, when she entered 221B to silence, she was surprised. She was even more surprised when she went upstairs, and saw Sherlock asleep on the sofa with Emma lying on his chest, also asleep. Then, to complete the picture, Sherlock was wearing – what were they? - donkey ears?

Grinning, she took a picture on her phone, and sent it to John and Mary. As she finished sending the text, Sherlock stirred, slowly sitting up so as not to wake Emma. Placing her in her cot, he smirked triumphantly. "I told you I could be trusted! We had a wonderful day, we went to the Natural History Museum," he said, omitting the part where Emma attended her first homicide investigation.

"It sounds wonderful," Molly smiled, standing on tip toes to give her fiance a kiss.

The domestic bliss continued until Monday, when the Watsons returned, and received an anonymous tip off from someone at Scotland Yard (Anderson), that a certain consulting detective had shown up at a murder investigation with Emma. The next day, the title of John's blog read:

**Sherlock Holmes is an Ass!**

The entry was accompanied by the photo Molly had taken, and ended with the line, "_But he is a well-meaning ass, as proved by this photographic evidence that the world's only consulting detective is also a big softie._"

When Sherlock read the entry, he was too worried about Molly's reaction to him taking Emma to a crime scene to even critique John's poor writing style.

Thankfully, the Watson's forgiveness seemed to have softened Molly, who was relatively calm about his actions, despite threatening to cut off his supply of body parts if he ever did it again.

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**_A/N: The donkey headband in question can indeed be found in the Natural History Museum Shop. If you need proof, the link is here :)_**

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	11. Wearing Kigurumis

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait, but on the plus side, my exams are over, so I can now try and do one prompt a day! :)**_

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"Aah-aah-choo!" A loud sneeze woke Molly from her sleep. Turning over in the bed, she was greeted by a sniffling, red eyed Sherlock. "Mo-Molly, I'm sorry for waking – " Sherlock mumbled pathetically, unable to finish his sentence before he began to cough loudly.

"Oh, Sherlock, you must have caught a cold from Emma when she was round at the weekend!" Molly said, getting up to fetch a box of tissues from the living room. From the bedroom, she heard a weak denial of "I'm not ill!" from Sherlock, followed by another enormous sneeze.

Returning to their bedroom, she passed him a tissue, and gently pressed a hand to his head. "Judging by the coughing, sneezing, and your very high temperature, I would say that you most definitely are ill, Sherlock," she replied, slightly shocked by just how warm he felt. "You stay in bed and I'll get you some food. What would you like?"

"Nothing, I'm on a case, I don't eat when I'm on a case," he protested, attempting to wave her away.

"Well, you are not on a case anymore, doctor's orders, so I'll get you some soup," Molly said, tucking her fiance in before he could try and get up, and heading to the kitchen to make some chicken soup.

Whilst the soup was heating up in the microwave, Molly phoned up work to say that she would not be in that day. Meanwhile, Sherlock had managed to sneak through to the living room, where he now lay on the sofa, still sniffing.

Hanging up the phone, Molly put the soup on the tray and told Sherlock to sit up and eat something. Being ill seemed to make it easier to get Sherlock to behave, and he obediently ate the soup without a fuss, clearing the bowl.

Having finished his soup, Sherlock put the bowl down, and curled up on the sofa, head in Molly's lap, allowing her to gently tug her fingers through his curls, relaxing him and making him feel rather sleepy.

After Sherlock had fallen asleep, Molly was content to sit quietly and watch him being calm and peaceful compared to usual. Little did she know what awaited her when he next awoke.

Sherlock's nap lasted about twenty minutes, until he woke, sitting up, and declaring that he felt much better. Doubtful, Molly took his temperature again, and was relieved to see that it had gone down slightly. Relieved that he seemed to be improving, Molly went and got dressed. When she returned, she felt a sense of dread as she realised that Sherlock was scratching at his arms, clearly uncomfortable.

Praying that her diagnosis was wrong, she cleared her throat. "Sherlock, have you ever had chicken pox?" Sherlock looked up at her, brow creased as he sorted through his mind palace to find the relevant data, which Molly hoped he hadn't deleted. Then he spoke. "As far as I can remember, no."

"Well then, I think I know what's wrong with you," she said, almost smiling before she realised how difficult it would be to keep the restless detective from scratching. "You obviously have chickenpox."

Sighing as he realised that her diagnosis seemed correct, Sherlock came to the same conclusion that he would be unable to stop himself from scratching. "Is there anything you can suggest to help me not to scratch?" he asked Molly, unable to find a solution himself.

"Well, there is one thing which I remember my mum doing when I got chickenpox, but I don't think you'll appreciate it," she replied, grinning.

"Just tell me so I can stop this infernal scratching!" he exclaimed impatiently, clenching his fists to stop himself from scratching.

"She made me wear a onesie, so that all my skin was covered," she revealed, laughing inside at Sherlock's horrified expression. "I'll go and get you one from Primark."

Without waiting for him to reply, she gathered her things together and prepared to leave, ignoring him begging her to think of another solution.

An hour later, the door to the flat opened, and Molly came up the stairs, holding a large brown paper bag from Primark, and looking apologetic. "There wasn't much choice, so don't get annoyed," she said, pulling something out of the bag. Sherlock simply stared at the item for a moment, then stripped out of his current pyjamas and pulled it on, clearly fed up of trying not to scratch.

Sheepishly, Molly pulled another piece of clothing out of the bag. "I saw this one, and I couldn't resist," she grinned, also changing into her new purchase, a kitten onesie.

Just as they had got comfortable on the sofa in their onesies, the doorbell rang, and they heard Mrs Hudson answer it, welcoming the guest in. Sherlock immediately deduced who it was, and he looked aghast.

Confused by Sherlock's dismay, Molly turned towards the door and saw Mycroft Holmes standing there, looking thoroughly amused by the sight of the pair. Smirking, he spoke, directing his speech at Sherlock. "I always had you down as the dragon slayer, not the dragon, brother mine."

Turning to Molly, however, he gave a rare, genuine smile. "Sister dear, I hope my brother is not being too much trouble. He always was a nightmare when he was ill." Molly smiled, and reassured him that she was ok.

Sherlock, however, already frustrated, hatched a plan to ensure that at least if he was miserable, his brother would be too. Standing, he approached his brother and gave him a hug, much to Mycroft's shock. Eyebrows raised, Mycroft stood stiffly until his brother let go and returned to lounging on the sofa. "I think you might want to check the dosage of medicine you are giving my brother, Molly," Mycroft said, still utterly confused, and left without another word, not seeing Sherlock's satisfied smirk.

As soon as she heard the front door shut, Molly rounded on Sherlock. "That was very sly, and not very nice, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Trying to give your brother chicken pox –"

Sherlock cut Molly off with a kiss, having already deduced that she had already had the disease and was therefore immune to it. "Hush, hush, Molly, Mycroft has dealt with me for almost forty years, I'm sure the irritation of chicken pox will seem minor in comparison."

When Sherlock went to move towards the bedroom, Molly stepped back. "No, Sherlock, you are ill, we are not doing this. Now go to bed." Meekly, Sherlock complied, shuffling back to bed, a long red dragon's tail trailing behind him.

Smiling after her fiance, Molly picked up her phone and sent a text to Anthea.

**You have had chicken pox, haven't you? If not, avoid Mycroft for the next few days. :) - Molly**

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_**A/N: I just couldn't help myself from writing a tiny piece of Smaug!lock and some sick!Sherlock :)**_


	12. Making Out

_**A/N: As always, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, follows, favourites and views, please keep them coming! :) Enjoy!**_

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The day was going dreadfully for Sherlock. It had begun when Molly had ruined one of his experiments after tripping over and knocking a tripod over, spilling the contents of a beaker all over the kitchen floor. This in turn had lead to him yelling at her, not realising that the acid in the beaker had burnt her hand, and therefore failing to check whether she was ok, upsetting her and causing her to storm out.

Next, he had been called to Scotland Yard, where Lestrade had berated him for not listening to Dimmock when he was doing cases for him, and threatened him with suspension from cases if his attitude didn't improve.

When Lestrade finally stopped telling him off, Sherlock skulked out of his office, snapping at John to "stop daydreaming and follow him." Now, he and John were in a cab, travelling towards the tailors where they were getting their suits fitted for Sherlock and Molly's wedding.

"Are you ok mate?" John asked, aware that his friend was on edge, and had been all morning.

"Yes," Sherlock replied shortly, pausing before continuing. "Actually, Molly and I had a fight this morning."

"Oh," John replied, unsure of how to continue. "What happened?" Sherlock proceeded to explain what had happened, sounding guilty about snapping at his fiancé.

"I'm sure she's ok now, she probably knows you didn't mean it," John reassured him, confident that Molly would have forgiven Sherlock by now.

Sherlock didn't seem much calmer when they entered the tailors, but managed to avoid insulting the tailor, instead standing relatively patiently as his suit was finished, a smart, dark grey three piece suit, which would be completed with a bow tie when Molly decided on the colour for the bridesmaids dresses. As the tailor was finishing, Sherlock's phone rang, but when he saw that it was Molly, he rejected the call, unwilling to get into an argument over the phone.

Just as he had changed back into his purple shirt and Belstaff, his phone began to ring again, the caller ID showing that this time it was Greg. "Probably only a four," he said to John, rejecting the call as he couldn't be bothered with taking on another case at the moment.

"Sherlock, we talked about this. You can't just pick and choose which cases you take," John scolded him, before giving up, aware that Sherlock taking a case he deemed boring would just cause him grief as Sherlock irritated the Yarders and showed off.

But twenty seconds later, the phone rang again. Yet again, Sherlock rejected the call, before turning his phone to silent. Then, as Sherlock and John began to walk along the road, heading towards the chip shop, the closest telephone box began to ring. Ignoring it, Sherlock continued to walk, humming something under his breath. It didn't take John long to realised that it was Mycroft calling when the next telephone box along the street began to ring too. "For God's sake Sherlock, just answer the phone!" John exclaimed, dragging his friend over to the nearest phone box.

Sighing petulantly, Sherlock picked up the phone. "Yes?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow at John. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, startling Sherlock, who was expecting Mycroft. "Come to 23 Chelsea Gardens immediately or your precious fiancé dies," the male voice said, then hung up.

Staring at the phone for a second, Sherlock felt his chest tighten in fear, a practically unknown emotion. Then he spoke, sounding unusually vulnerable. "John. John, someone has Molly. What do I do?"

Aghast, John reeled for a moment, and then replied. "Do you know where they are? Did you recognise the voice?" Something seemed to trigger in Sherlock's brain, and he switched to detective mode, detaching himself from what was happening. "They said they were at 23 Chelsea Gardens. I didn't know them, but I estimate male, late thirties, potentially stalker hoping to gain my attention. Molly must have managed to contact Greg, that would have been why he was calling."

Scanning the map in his head for the quickest route, Sherlock took off, sprinting down side streets and squeezing through gaps, followed by John. When they arrived at Chelsea Gardens, John checked for his gun, hoping it wouldn't be needed, before Sherlock silently approached the house from the side, crouching below the wall and staying out of view.

Once they were outside number 23, sheltered by a hedge, Sherlock whispered to John. "I'll head in and distract him, and then you can shoot him. He took Molly, so I don't care whether it's fatal."

Without waiting for John to agree, Sherlock strode up to the door, and upon finding it open, walked inside.

Inside, Sherlock headed up the stairs, having deduced where Molly was already. John followed behind quietly, his army training coming into practice. Reaching the first bedroom on the left, Sherlock entered the room, and was met with the sight of Molly bound and gagged on a chair in the middle of the room, tear tracks staining her flushed cheeks. Relief flooded her eyes when she saw him, trusting him completely.

Although he too was relieved to see Molly, Sherlock was still in his isolated detective mode, and focused his attention on the kidnapper. A greasy, pale man stood next to Molly, fitting the deductions Sherlock had made after the phone call.

"You actually came! I was afraid I'd have to do something to your little pet before you turned up. I'm your biggest fan, so when I saw on Dr Watson's blog that you'd got yourself a fiancé, I couldn't stand it. But now, I can show you that she's not worthy of you –"

The man didn't finish his sentence, a shot ringing out from the doorway where John stood, gun pointed at the man, who had screamed and collapsed on the floor, a bullet having passed through his leg.

"Don't worry, you won't die, I'm a doctor and an excellent shot, so it will be non-fatal," John said, stepping forward, gun still trained on the man. As John kept watch over the man, Sherlock rushed towards Molly, untying her and smothering her with kisses, uncharacteristically affectionate, overwhelmed with relief at being reunited with her. After a minute or so, Molly gently extracted herself from Sherlock's hold, smiling at him tenderly.

"Sherlock, we can't make out, it's a crime scene," she said, looking pointedly at the wounded man who still lay groaning on the floor.

"I thought I'd lose you, and the last thing I'd ever say to you would be to tell you how useless you were," Sherlock said, passionately kissing her, ignoring her weak protests. "I love you, and I thought I'd never get to tell you that again. What if I'd gotten here too late, all because I was too stubborn to answer my phone?"

"Sherlock, it's ok, you did get here in time, I forgive you," she replied, comforting him, and he kissed her again, pressing his lips against hers and vowing to himself never to be so stupid again.

Ten minutes later, Lestrade turned up, to be greeted by Sherlock and Molly making out next to a man with a bullet wound through his leg, and John looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, holding a gun. "Why is it always you three?" he sighed, although he was secretly glad that they were all ok.

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**_A/N: Did any of you get the sneaky reference near the end? ;)_**


	13. Eating Ice Cream

_**A/N: Once again, thank you for all the amazing support! Sorry for the gap between updates, I had a really busy week last week. The prompt is 'Eating Ice Cream'.**_

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Strolling along the sea front, hand in hand with Sherlock, Molly grinned to herself, still not quite believing how strange and perfect her life had become. She was working in her ideal job as a pathologist, she was engaged to her dream man, and the weather for their long weekend away had been amazing, especially considering that they were in Britain.

Sherlock had surprised her on Thursday night by declaring that he was taking her away for the bank holiday weekend, and had already booked her a day off for the Friday. They had arrived midday on Friday, and collected the keys to a picturesque cottage overlooking the sea that Sherlock had been rented by someone who owed him a favour.

It was now Saturday afternoon, and they were casually making their way along the beach which was packed with holidaymakers, weaving around people sunbathing and children building sandcastles. The sun was beating down, and whilst Molly wore her bikini, Sherlock remained covered up in his usual attire of black trousers and a shirt, as in the midst of organising everything, he had forgotten to pack his own beachwear, much to Molly's amusement.

"Sherlock, are you sure that you aren't too hot?" she said, eyeing her fiance who was looking rather hot and bothered.

"I am a bit warm, it's just - " he replied, and suddenly stopped, his attention drawn away from Molly. Following his gaze, Molly realised exactly what had caught his eye. An ice cream van was parked just off the beach, and all around, children and adults alike were enjoying refreshingly cold treats. Laughing, Molly tugged on Sherlock's hand and headed over to the van.

A few minutes later, the couple were once again strolling along the beach, but were now clutching ice creams. "It's no good, I'm still boiling!" Sherlock exclaimed, undoing his top button. Licking her ice cream, Molly refrained from laughing at the red-faced detective, and scanned the promenade for a shop selling beach items, and sure enough, there was one about a hundred yards away.

"Let's have a look in there, they might sell some swimming trunks that you can change into," Molly suggested, pointing at the shop. Looking mildly relieved, Sherlock agreed, and the pair headed into the store.

Inside however, Sherlock was horrified to discover that the only trunks available were covered in bright pink flamingos. But faced with the decision of over-heating or wearing the monstrosities, he reluctantly purchased them, silently cursing the owner of the shop for not stocking a wider selection of swimwear.

As he emerged from the shop changing rooms in the pink shorts, Molly quickly snapped a photo on her phone, much to Sherlock's annoyance. Wanting to avoid an argument that would spoil their break, he bit his tongue, and gave a forced smile, aware that Molly wouldn't be cruel enough to send the photo to John.

Returning to the beach, Molly put out two beach towels and set down their things whilst Sherlock went and purchased another ice cream, and then they both stretched out on their towels. As Sherlock finished his ice cream, Molly giggled, noticing that he had managed to get a blob of ice cream on the tip of his nose. Leaning over, she kissed him on the nose, unaware that an avid fan of Sherlock's had just spotted them and was taking a photo at that very moment.

The next day, there was great amusement at the Watson household when the morning paper was delivered, and the front page was plastered with a blown up image of Molly leaning in to kiss Sherlock, who had ice cream on his nose and was wearing a pair of bright pink flamingo swimming trunks, accompanied by the headline, 'Hot Detective In Not So Hot Shorts' and an article dissecting his fashion faux pas.

Meanwhile, when it was spotted by Sherlock and Molly, Molly was secretly thrilled that the article had described her as "attractive" and "slim", not that she would admit it to Sherlock, who spent the remainder of the holiday sulking about the article, and it's omission of the fact that he had had no choice about which trunks to purchase.


	14. Genderswapped

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait! As always, please read and leave a review :)**_

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"This is a ridiculous idea!" Sherlock's voice drifted through the wall to the lounge, producing a fit of giggles from Molly, Mary and Anthea, who were sat in the lounge, waiting for their partners to emerge from the bedroom where they were currently getting ready.

"Just hold still a minute!" replied the exasperated voice of John Watson, the long-suffering best man. It was Sherlock's stag do, and Molly, Mary, Anthea and Mrs Hudson were waiting impatiently to see the boys off, cameras at the ready.

A few weeks earlier, John had revealed his plan for the evening to everyone, to the horror of Sherlock and Mycroft, the slightly milder horror of Greg, and the amusement of the women. John had decided that all of the men would dress in drag for the stag night. When questioned by Sherlock, he denied doing it simply as a photo opportunity for his blog, and instead insisted that it was a social convention which Sherlock was simply unaware of.

When Sherlock had continued to argue with him, he was swiftly reminded of the awful job he had done of organising John's stag do, silencing him on the matter.

Now, the men were all getting ready for their night out, hence the various exclamations from the bedroom, as pins were shoved into scalps, and zippers caught on flesh.

Finally, the bedroom door opened, and the four men entered the lounge, to be met with the hysterical laughter of the women, and a blinding flash of cameras.

First came Mycroft, dressed in one of Anthea's old dresses, a tight green number, a brunette wig, and a heavy layer of make-up. Greg followed, in a black PVC dress and fishnets, completed by a leather jacket and blonde wig.

Next was John, wearing a purple, sorry, lilac dress used by one of the bridesmaids at his wedding, and a bright ginger wig, slightly resembling Daphne from Scooby Doo. Finally, Sherlock skulked out of the room, his pouting only emphasising the bright red lipstick he wore. He was wearing _that_ dress, white heels, and a red scarf, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Oh, Sherlock, that lipstick really brings out the colour of your eyes!" Molly sniggered.

"Where on earth did you get that dress?" Mary wheezed, doubled over with laughter as she pointed at Greg.

"It wasn't me who bought it!" protested Greg. "It was my Secret Santa present last Christmas, so I thought it should get a bit of use at last!"

After they had been photographed to within an inch of their lives, they were allowed to leave, Mycroft almost falling down the stairs in his heels.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully for the girls, with them sitting round planning their hen night, until Molly's phone rang at almost midnight. Looking at the caller ID, she was unsure whether to be scared or amused by the fact that Sherlock was the one calling her.

"Hello? Is everything ok?" she asked tentatively, although she didn't have to wait long for a reply.

"Molly!" came Sherlock's voice on the other end. "My Mol – Molly – Mollypops! Fiancé... path-path-dead-person-cutter-upper!"

Torn between laughing and sighing at her soon-to-be-husbands antics, Molly held the phone away from her ear and spoke to her friends. "He's completely drunk," she said, and was greeted with laughter from them.

Returning to the phone call, she heard another voice. "I am the British government, did you know? I'm very important," Mycroft mumbled. "I'm practically the queen – I mean king."

"Yes, yes, Mikey, you're very special," Molly giggled. "I'm coming to pick you all up, so don't leave the pub. Promise?"

"We promise Miss," John piped up in the background. Then the line went dead, as one of the men hung up. Turning to her friends, Molly couldn't help but laugh.

"Has everyone got their cameras?" she asked, as they all got ready to leave.

When they arrived at the Nag's Head, they were greeted by Lestrade, who showed them his police ID, attempted to arrest them for "being too pretty", and then promptly fell over in his heels. After helping him up, the group made their way to the bar, where Sherlock was proudly introducing himself as "Sheryl Holmes, consulting thingamajig" to anyone who would listen, accompanied by John who was wearing a sign that read "I'm a pretty lady." Mycroft appeared to have sobered up a bit since the phone call, and was looking rather embarrassed as he sat sipping from a glass of water.

In years to come, whenever the boys stepped out of line, all the girls had to do was mention the "stag night incident", and suddenly they all went quiet and apologised, desperately trying to avoid its retelling.

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**_A/N: Sorry Sherlock, I do seem to keep embarrassing you, but it's just too funny to resist!_**


	15. In a Different Clothing Style

**_A/N: Half way there! As always, thank you for all the lovely reviews, they are so great to read, so please keep them coming :) Hope you enjoy this chapter, and I've got Molly sharing in the embarrassment this time :)_**

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"Aah, this one's cute," Molly cooed, pointing at the photo that had been stuck to the page and captioned 'Mycroft Meets the New Addition', and showed a seven year-old Mycroft, with red hair and a disapproving frown even then, holding a tiny baby whose raven curls marked him as Sherlock.

She and Sherlock had arrived at his parents' house earlier that day, and been treated to a delicious roast dinner. Now, Sherlock was sat in the armchair, whilst Molly sat with Violet Holmes on the sofa flicking through photo albums stuffed to bursting with snaps of Mycroft and Sherlock.

Whilst Molly smiled and giggled at the various photographs, Sherlock sat glaring at his mother. The glare only intensified when Violet pointed out a photograph that was captioned 'Captain Sherlock and First Mate Redbeard'.

The Polaroid showed a small, thin child with masses of jet black hair alongside a beautiful Irish Setter. The child, Sherlock, wore a stripy top, jeans that had been ripped off at the knee and a pirate hat, and was brandishing a sword at the camera.

"Oh, that's adorable!" Molly said, grinning.

"It is, isn't it?" Violet said, smiling fondly at her son. "They were always going on adventures. I remember this one time –"

" – Molly doesn't need to know about the tree incident," Sherlock interrupted hastily, making both Molly and his mother laugh.

"One day your children will be grown up, and you'll be teasing them about when they used to dress up and play silly games," Violet replied, causing Molly to flush bright red.

"We haven't really – well, we haven't even really discussed children yet Violet," Molly stammered, glancing nervously at Sherlock, who to her surprise looked fairly calm.

"Now, now, you can't deprive an old lady of grandchildren," Violet teased, winking at her son. "I'm going to go make some tea, do either of you want some?"

The couple both politely declined the offer, and Violet bustled through to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

There was an awkward pause for a moment before Molly spoke. "Don't be embarrassed about the pirate phase, I went through a punk phase when I was fifteen – don't ask, I got rid of all the photos years ago!"

A vivid mental image of a fifteen-year old Molly in platform shoes and stripy tights, with her hair dyed a bright purple, and one eyebrow pierced flitted through Sherlock's mind, causing him to smirk.

Then his expression turned more serious. "I'm sorry if my mother made you uncomfortable when she brought up children."

"No, no, it's fine, it's just that, well, we haven't spoken about it," Molly replied. After a pause she spoke again. "I'd always imagined myself with children, but I didn't think you wanted kids, so once we started going out, I put it to the back of my mind. After all, I'm lucky enough to have you, so I saw it as a compromise."

Considering his next words for a moment, Sherlock began to speak. "I must admit, I never saw myself as a husband, let alone a father. But you have changed all that, Molly. You have given me more than I could ever have asked of you, and yet you still think that you are the lucky one. I only wish I could make you see that I am the lucky one, that every day that I wake up next to you I thank a higher power for the fact that you waited for me."

At this, Molly felt herself tearing up, unable to reply.

"Molly? What? Did I do something wrong?" Sherlock asked frantically, the panic he had felt after giving his best man's speech returning as Molly wiped away tears.

"No, you idiot," Molly said, smiling before pressing her lips against his, kissing him passionately, forgetting that his parents could walk in at any moment, or even caring.

Suddenly, the moment ended as Violet Holmes returned, raising an eyebrow and smiling when she saw them. "When I asked for grandchildren, I didn't mean at this very moment!" she laughed, as the pair broke apart, looking sheepish.


	16. During Their Morning Rituals

_**A/N: I'm back! My laptop broke, and then I had problems transferring my documents to the new laptop, so I've only just been able to complete this chapter. I'm really sorry for the wait, I hope the fluffiness that follows makes up for it at least a little! Please drop me a review to let me know what you think :)**_

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Waking up and turning over, Molly was surprised to find that the space in the bed next to her was empty. Normally she was the first one to wake up when Sherlock wasn't on a case, and he would only get up once she was already showered and dressed.

Getting up and slipping on her dressing gown, she made through the flat, investigating the mysterious case of the disappearing Sherlock. Finding no sign of him, she decided to make some toast and give him time to reappear before she texted John.

Entering the kitchen, the calendar caught her eye. Just as realisation dawned on her, a deep voice sounded behind her. "Happy birthday Molly," Sherlock said, gently embracing her and planting a quick kiss on her crown.

"Thank you love, I'd just remembered myself – obviously I'm getting old," Molly joked, responding to his kiss with one of her own, which was deepening when the toaster pinged, drawing her attention away.

"I'll be in the lounge, come through when you're finished, I've got a surprise for you," Sherlock grinned, winking at her before leaving her to wonder what on earth his surprise could be, as she couldn't see anything in the living room. As she buttered her toast and ate it as quickly as possible, she could see Sherlock smirking from where he was sat on the sofa, plainly aware of her impatience.

Once she had eaten, she sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa, and he promptly got up. Seeing her confused expression, Sherlock simply smirked even more, and opened the door to the apartment, his back to her and the door open as little as possible, so all Molly could see was her fiance and part of a cardboard box.

Suddenly, Molly heard a whimpering sound, and Sherlock turned around holding her birthday present, a beautiful Red Setter puppy. "Oh -my-gosh!" Molly squealed, eyes widening. "Is it really – I mean, seriously – It's ours? Mrs Hudson's ok with this, right?"

"I already checked that it was fine with Mrs Hudson. I thought we could do with some practice before we have little humans running around all over the flat," Sherlock said deadpan, causing Molly to give him a beautiful smile.

"So this is your way of saying that you're ready for children?" she asked, taking the puppy in her arms and holding it against her.

"I suppose it is," Sherlock replied, returning the smile with an even bigger one. "But for now, shall we focus on the puppy?"

"Of course, is it a boy or a girl?"

"Male. No name as of yet. He's a purebred Irish Red Setter, ten weeks old."

"Aren't you gorgeous? Yes you are!" Molly gushed, directing her speech at the puppy now. "What are we going to call you?"

"I was thinking Redbeard, but it's up to you, he is yours after all," Sherlock said tentatively.

"He's _our_ dog, and I think that's a wonderful idea!" Molly smiled, knowing how much the name meant to Sherlock.

Fast forward three hours later and the floor of the flat was covered in newspaper, following the realisation that puppies don't come house-trained, the Union Jack cushion had been mutilated beyond repair, and Sherlock was laid out on the sofa exhausted.

"How does it have so much energy?" he groaned. As Molly giggled, Redbeard took it upon himself to try and steal Sherlock's sock, latching onto his toe and tugging.

Just as Sherlock was attempting to prise the puppy away from his foot, the door to the flat opened and Mary and John entered, Emma toddling alongside them.

"Unc' Lock!" Emma called out, just as a ball of red fur pelted towards her, having forgotten all about Sherlock's sock. Within seconds of Emma having been tackled to the ground by Redbeard, all of the adults had rushed to her aid, concern clouding their faces.

They needn't have worried; Emma was beaming ear-to-ear as the exuberant puppy licked her face, tail wagging frantically. "You bought a dog?" exclaimed John once it was clear that a crisis had been averted.

"Your powers of deduction have clearly been unaffected by parenthood John," Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I got Redbeard for Molly's birthday, as I have been informed that it is customary to give gifts on the anniversary of one's birth."

"He's beautiful," Mary sighed, crouching next to her daughter and stroking the newest addition to 221B. "Are you sure you don't want one John?"

"Yes. Knowing me, it would turn out to be some sort of killer dog bred by the government," he muttered, then catching the rather murderous look his wife gave him, added "Sorry dear."

Later that evening, as the Molly and Mary sat gossiping about something or another, and Emma continued to gleefully play with Redbeard, John and Sherlock stood in the kitchen, where Sherlock had retired to in order to conduct some experiment or another.

Gesturing to the scene in the living room, John spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between the two men. "Look at us." At the questioning expression of his friend, he continued. "You know, all settled down and, well, normal."

"Hardly normal, John," Sherlock replied with a smirk. "I'm the world's only consulting detective, who is engaged to a pathologist who helped fake my death, with a dog named after a pirate. You are an ex-army doctor who is naturally drawn to psychopaths, and whose child's favourite bedtime stories revolve around murders and crime scenes."

"You know what I mean!" said John exasperatedly.

"Yes, and I wouldn't change it for anything," Sherlock admitted, gazing admiringly at his pathologist, and sending her a wink when she realised he was watching her.


	17. Spooning

_**A/N: Hi all! I know that this is a really short one, but I couldn't think of a way to make it longer without spoiling it so...**_

**_Update: Forgot that I was going to add a trigger warning for brief mentions of car accidents and child deaths - sorry!_**

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Putting away the last body, Molly looked around, checking that no one was there to see her, before allowing her professional composure to slip for a moment.

An horrific traffic accident earlier that day had left her with five post mortems to conduct during her afternoon shift, two of which had been young children. Always the professional, Molly had remained calm whilst working, distancing herself from the victims, particularly the children, but now that her shift was over, a wave of nausea flooded over her at what she had been forced to deal with.

Packing her things up, she headed home to Baker Street and found it empty, a note left on the kitchen table informing her that Sherlock was out on a case with John and that he wouldn't be needing dinner.

"Redbeard!" Molly called out, seeking some companionship, and wondering where the dog was, as he usually gave her an enthusiastic greeting when she returned home from work. Suddenly, she remembered that he was staying at the vets for a couple of days; after swallowing a sock, a key and God knows what else, they had decided that the best course would be to have it all removed in case it caused any internal damage.

Feeling rather alone, Molly curled up on the sofa, hoping that her fiance wouldn't be too long. The usually unnoticeable ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder and inescapable, as the seconds turned into minutes, which in turn became hours. The two young children began to fill her mind, their innocent faces drifting through her thoughts.

Molly couldn't remember falling asleep, but she woke suddenly, startled to find that it was dark. Consulting her watch, she realised that it was almost ten o' clock. Then her thoughts turned to Sherlock.

"Why isn't he back yet? He should've been home ages ago," a voice in her head taunted. "I'm sure nothing has happened, but what if something has?"

Unbidden, images of Sherlock lying injured somewhere in a pool of his own blood entered her head, refusing to leave. After trying to shake away the morbid thoughts, Molly headed to bed, wrapping the duvet around her and burying her head in the pillow, falling into a restless sleep, tossing and turning.

"It's ok Molly, I'm right here," murmured Sherlock tenderly as he slipped into the bed beside her, curling around her protectively from behind, having returned at last.

Although Molly didn't wake, the tension seemed to leave her body as he lay next to her, as if even whilst sleeping she could sense that he was safely with her.


	18. Doing Something Together

**_A/N: Two prompts in one day as I'm in a very good mood after getting my exam results today! :D Enjoy!_**

* * *

"Guess what the girls at work got us as an early wedding present?" shrieked Molly excitedly, waving her phone in the air, having just received a text from Meena.

Stepping away from his microscope for a moment, Sherlock considered all the available information as he attempted to deduce what gift could possibly have excited Molly this much. "Tickets to some teenage boy-band?" he guessed, vaguely recalling the information he had stored on Molly's music tastes, for once hoping he was incorrect as the thought of suffering through hours of 'One Dimension' or whatever they were called entered his mind.

"No, it's even better!" Molly exclaimed, grinning. "You know those 'Red Letter Day' things? They got us a couple's horse riding experience! I used to ride when I was younger, but I never get the chance living in London."

"You used to ride when you were younger?" Sherlock asked, confused at how he could have not known this piece of information before.

With a sigh, Molly replied, "Yes Sherlock, I have told you this before, but clearly you deleted the information. Oh!"

"What?"

"Can you ride? I hadn't even though of it, but if you can't, a whole day of riding is going to be a problem."

"I haven't ridden before, but it can't be that difficult. You just sit there and give the creature a bit of a kick every now and then," Sherlock replied unfazed, confident that a little research on the matter would prepare him sufficiently.

"If you're sure," Molly said hesitantly, not convinced as a rider herself that Sherlock had fully grasped how much skill horse riding required.

And so it was that two weeks later, Molly and Sherlock were arriving at a quaint stables in the countryside outside of London, having gotten a train there.

"You're sure you're going to be ok?" Molly asked as they filled in the required forms.

"Yes, Molly," Sherlock replied exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Now, where are the animals?"

As he looked around, a young woman approached, smiling at the couple, Molly in full riding gear, Sherlock in denim jeans, a shirt and a borrowed riding hat.

"Hi, I'm Emily and I'm your guide and instructor for the day. We'll be doing a quick session in the school before we go out for a hack, so if you follow me, I'll introduce you to the horses," the woman greeted them.

As they approached the stables, a handsome black thoroughbred stuck it's head over the door, sniffing at the approaching people. "Oh, he's gorgeous!" Molly gushed, putting a hand out and stroking it's nose.

"This is Topthorn, who you will be riding today Sherlock," Emily said, gesturing for him to approach the horse.

His show of confidence failing for a moment, Sherlock hesitated to go near the horse. Stretching out a tentative hand, he went to stroke it, only for Topthorn to attempt to bite him.

"Oh dear, Topthorn is normally very friendly, I'm sure he'll be fine once you get going," Emily reassured him, then showed Molly the horse in the next stable. "You'll be riding Joey today."

To Sherlock's secret dismay, the horse seemed to warm to Molly instantly, whinnying softly and nuzzling her outstretched hand. "Hello sweetie," Molly gushed, making a fuss of the animal.

After tacking up and heading out to the school, the time came for them to get on. With one graceful movement, Molly swung herself up into the saddle, and began to adjust the stirrups and girth as if it hadn't been years since she had last ridden.

Meanwhile, Sherlock remained firmly on the ground, attempting to balance whilst getting his foot up high enough to put in the stirrup. He had finally managed to get his foot in the stirrup when Topthorn decided to move, forcing Sherlock to hop along behind him, before falling to the floor and being dragged around the school.

As Molly looked on and giggled, Emily managed to stop Topthorn, and give Sherlock a leg-up onto his back. Sherlock finally in place, the lesson began, and continued in much the same way as the rest of the morning had gone; Molly riding like a natural, controlling Joey with ease, and quickly ready to attempt some jumps, and Sherlock trying desperately to maintain his composure as Topthorn first refused to move, then began cantering, interspersed with the occasional buck.

Once Sherlock had finally gained some semblance of control over Topthorn, they made their way onto the track next to the stables, Sherlock being lulled into a false sense of security as Topthorn seemed to relax and begin to behave.

Then, after about an hour, the track opened up into a field, and Topthorn decided that it would be fun to go for a gallop, taking off, Sherlock losing all composure and yelling as he bounced about, disappearing into the distance.

"Oops!" Molly exclaimed, before bursting into laughter. "We should probably go and check he's ok."

As the two women rode forward, a very disgruntled Sherlock appeared, dragging a sheepish Topthorn behind him. Leaves and debris were stuck to him, and his front was covered in mud.

"Oh God, are you ok?" Emily cried, looking concerned.

"He's fine, it's only his pride that's hurt," Molly reassured her, fighting back a smirk as Sherlock attempted to remount Topthorn, clambering back on, and only narrowly avoiding falling off again.

Later, as the pair sat on the train home, Sherlock looking mildly less filthy, having used wet wipes provided by Emily to clean himself up once they returned to the stables, Molly spoke. "So, do you admit that riding isn't as easy as you thought?"

"I maintain my belief that riding is very simple. The problem was the beast of a horse," he muttered darkly, frowning.

"Ahh, what's the saying? A poor workman blames his tools? I think we may have found something that The Great Sherlock Holmes can't do. I think you're just jealous because I could do it and you couldn't," Molly teased, grinning at her fiance.

To Sherlock, it seemed there was only one way to end his humiliation. Leaning across the table, he planted a kiss on his fiancé's lips, silencing her mocking completely.


	19. In Formal Wear

**_A/N: Finally here - the big day! Enjoy!_**

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**The Wedding: Part One**

"Mary, calm down, everything is going perfectly," Molly placated her maid of honour. It was the day of her wedding, yet she was the most composed person in the room, apart from perhaps Anthea.

Mrs Hudson was sat in a chair, sniffling into a tissue, overcome with emotion at the thought of "Sherlock all grown up", whilst Mrs Holmes was currently elsewhere, looking for something which she had misplaced earlier.

Anthea looked on serenely, already dressed in her soft pink bridesmaids gown, hair pinned in place and make up done.

The other person in the room was of course Mary. On reflection, Molly realised that choosing a trained assassin as the chief bridesmaid was probably a bad decision, as the organised perfectionist had taken her duties rather seriously, almost as seriously as Sherlock had taken his best man's duties at John's wedding.

Molly and Sherlock had agreed that a small, simple, family wedding would suffice for them, as the important thing was each other and their close friends, but through Mary's less-than-gentle persuasion, they had ended up with a wedding that although small, was meticulously planned and came with all the trimmings.

Although she herself had been ready for the past hour, Mary was a whirlwind of activity, flitting from adjusting Molly's already perfect hair, to checking over the phone with the catering staff that a vegetarian option had been provided for Lestrade's new girlfriend.

As Mary finally settled, apparently finally assured that everything was done, Violet returned to the room, holding a small box.

Holding it out to Molly, she spoke. "This is for you dear. They were my great-grandmother's. Welcome to the family." Opening the box, Molly found a beautiful pair of delicate diamond earrings, set in white gold.

"Oh Violet, they're beautiful!" Molly replied, holding back the tears that threatened to flow and giving her soon to be mother-in-law a gentle hug. "Thank you so much."

"No, thank you, for saving my son," Violet replied, returning the embrace.

The touching moment was only spoilt by Mary shrieking, "No tears! You'll ruin your make-up, and the cars will be here any time now!"

Meanwhile, Sherlock was taking his place at the altar, John by his side. "Ready?" John asked, grinning at his best friend.

"Of course John. I love Molly," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes, as though anyone who thought otherwise was an idiot.

"Decided on a song for the first dance yet? Or is it one of your own compositions?" John joked. Sherlock had requested that he were the one to decide on the first dance, and had refused to confide his choice in anyone else.

"Really John, you should know better than anyone how stubborn I can be. If I haven't told you already, what makes you think I will now?"

"Fine, fine, I'll wait," John grumbled good-naturedly, looking around the gradually filling room.

The front row of the small chapel was half-empty, as Violet and Mrs Hudson had been with Molly all morning as they helped her get ready, and would be arriving only shortly before Molly herself. When they arrived, they would join Siger and Mycroft, who were already in their places, Mycroft having declined a larger role in the ceremony, followed by the mutter of "too much legwork" from Sherlock. Emma was sat on Mycroft's lap, much to Sherlock's amusement and his brother's horror, as her parents were both involved in the ceremony.

Greg was waiting by the door to the chapel, as he would be taking the place of Molly's late father, a role he was taking very seriously. His newest girlfriend ("finally one who isn't a serial cheater" according to Sherlock) was sat in the pews, next to Henry Knight, who was one of a few clients who had been invited.

The rest of the chapel was filled with a mixture of people, from police officers to hospital workers. Wiggins was sat chatting to Meena, whilst Archie begged case details from Anderson.

The sound of gravel being crunched beneath tyres indicating the arrival of the bridal party, and John heard Sherlock take a deep breath, straightening his bow tie.

Outside, the two cars pulled up, and Mrs Hudson and Violet got out of the first one, making their way into the chapel before Molly and the bridesmaids. As they hurried inside, Greg opened the door for Molly, helping her out, catching her as she almost tripped over.

"Wow. You look beautiful Molly," he said, offering her his arm. "Your father would be so proud of you." She had gone for a simple sleeveless tea dress with a boat neckline, and a birdcage veil, not wanting anything too elaborate.

"Thank you Greg," Molly replied with a stunning smile. Just then, the sound of a beautiful piece of violin music floated out of the chapel doors, signalling that it was time for them to make their way down the aisle. Anthea went first, gracefully leading the way, followed by Mary, who had finally stopped worrying about everything.

As Molly stepped inside, she let out a small gasp, as she realised that the violin music was not a recording, but instead Sherlock playing his own composition for her.

Looking up whilst he played, Sherlock saw Molly entering the chapel, and his cupid's bow lips curved into a smile that summed up everything he felt about Molly. He didn't notice the bridesmaids, and barely registered her dress, as his eyes were only for her, as she returned his smile with a dazzling one of her own.

As she reached him, he finished the piece, handing his violin over to John without taking his eyes away from her. "You're beautiful, Molly Hooper," he whispered, knowing that it would be the last time that he called her that.

Then everyone fell silent as the priest began the ceremony; although Sherlock wasn't religious, Molly had insisted on a church wedding, having been brought up Christian herself.

As they said their vows, Mrs Hudson's muffled sobs could be heard in the background, and Molly could have sworn she saw the glint of a tear in Sherlock's eye.

Then, John stepped forward with the rings. "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest said.

"I do," Molly replied, slipping the gold band onto Sherlock's finger.

"Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Sherlock said, grinning as he placed the ring on her finger.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

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_**A/N: To be continued...**_


	20. Dancing

_**A/N: I am so so sorry for how long I've made you wait for part two, please forgive me? I've been getting sorted as school has just started back, and just haven't had time to write :( Enjoy, and as always, reviews are appreciated :)**_

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**The Wedding: Part Two**

As everyone took their seats at the reception, John stood at his place next to Sherlock. "Oh, I've been waiting to get my own back for ages," John teased, grinning. Next to Sherlock, Molly cringed as she anticipated what was about to happen.

"Well I never. Sherlock Holmes, married," John began, to a round of laughter. "I never thought I'd see the day. Well, that might actually be because he let me think he was dead for a couple of years, but who hasn't done that? Oh, wait, no one!"

The rest of the speech continued in this manner, with Sherlock cringing, Molly blushing, and the guests roaring with laughter, particularly Mary, Greg and Mrs Hudson.

Once the speeches had finished, and the food had been eaten, Sherlock took Molly's hand and guided her towards the dance floor, where the guests were gathering round the edge to watch the first dance.

Stepping into the middle of the dance floor, Sherlock by her side, Molly felt a rush of nerves as she felt everyone's eyes on them. Then, the first notes of the song Sherlock had chosen filled the small room, and it was as though everyone else had disappeared, and it was just her and Sherlock. "Oh!" she gasped as she realised which song he had chosen, and the meaning behind it.

Gently placing his hands on Molly's waist, Sherlock began to guide her around the floor, swaying in time to the music, and keeping his eyes fixed on her. Meanwhile, Mary was almost sobbing in the audience, whilst even John looked as though he was tearing up. "'Just the Way You Are' - it's perfect," Mary said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

As the song drew near the end, Sherlock bent his neck and whispered in Molly's ear. "I thought it was an appropriate choice, as you never realise just how amazing you are, Molly Hooper-Holmes."

Hearing her new name, Molly beamed, going onto her tiptoes to give Sherlock a peck, which turned into a rather passionate kiss, at which point Sherlock withdrew slightly, raising an eyebrow pointedly at their audience.

As the DJ stepped in, and the music changed, the first guests began to make their way onto the dance floor, and John and Mary stepped up to congratulate the happy couple. "May I?" John asked, extending his hand towards Molly.

"You may," she replied with a smile, and the pair began to dance.

"Sherlock...married, settled down, it's such a weird concept," John shook his head, chuckling to himself as they danced. "Congratulations though. If anyone control him, it's you."

"Thanks, although I'm not sure about control, more like put up with - the amount of times I've told him not to leave body parts in the fridge!" she replied with a grin. Just then, she spotted Anthea dragging Mycroft across the floor towards them, clearly encouraging him to give his congratulations.

"Ah, I'd better let the new brother-in-law have a dance," John grinned, stepping back from Molly and offering his hand to Anthea.

As John and Anthea waltzed away, Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose congratulations are in order, sister dear." There was a pause. "I don't really, you know..." he gestured to the dance floor.

"Dance?" Molly giggled, "Come on, please?"

"Ok, fine, just this once," Mycroft conceded, able to negotiate with world leaders and presidents, but defeated by Molly Hooper-Holmes.

Mycroft turned out to be a surprisingly graceful dancer, something Molly felt the need to comment on. "Just because I choose not to show off like my brother doesn't mean I am any less skilled than he is," Mycroft sniffed, before giving Molly a conspiratorial wink, shooting a cheeky glance in Anthea's direction.

Just then, the music changed from a slow, classical piece to 'The Macarena', wiping the grin off of Mycroft's face, and he promptly escaped to the dessert table, having spotted a rather delicious looking lemon tart.

Fast forward a few hours, and Molly's kitten heels lay discarded at the edge of the dance floor, and most of the guests had left, not that it had been a particularly large wedding to begin with. Now, she was held against her new husband, head on his chest as they slowly swayed almost on the spot. "Molly Hooper-Holmes," Sherlock murmured, smiling at her, and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, gazing into her eyes.

"Yes, husband?" Molly replied with a grin, returning his kiss with one of her own, planted on his cupid bow lips.

"I think it will soon be time for us to leave and depart for our sex holiday, so we can enjoy our wedding night," Sherlock smirked, his impatience barely concealed.

"How many times have I told you, it's a honeymoon, not a sex holiday," Molly giggled, "Although I must admit, I am looking forward to spending a week in Paris with you."

Just as the happy couple were about to attempt to sneak out the back door to the car that was taking them to the airport, they were halted by John and Mary, who were both grinning suspiciously.

"Before you two escape, we wanted to give you your other wedding present," Mary said, holding out a small squarish parcel.

"You didn't have to, you already gave us money towards the honeymoon," Molly replied, taking the present with a smile.

"Oh, believe me, this is far better," John laughed. "Go on, open it up!" Frowning slightly at their friends suspicious behaviour, Sherlock and Molly gave each other a look, then Molly carefully unwrapped the parcel.

As she registered the meaning behind the gift, Molly gasped, tears filling her eyes. Meanwhile, Sherlock was looking confused. "John, why have you given us a book of baby names? Is this some sort of - oh." As he caught up, Molly got herself together enough to speak.

"You think I'm, you think I'm pregnant?" she stuttered, one hand instinctively cradling her stomach. As Sherlock continued to look blank, John spoke up.

"It was Mary who first noticed. When you were at the last dress fitting, you were complaining about it feeling tight. Then, when you all went out for lunch afterwards, you said the smell of fish and chips - your favourite food - was making you feel nauseous. Once she told me about her suspicions, I started to notice the signs too. I've been dying to tell you before he worked it out, return the favour, so to speak," John laughed.

"You can't be certain though," Molly said, although realisation seemed to be dawning on her as she added up the deductions herself.

"Actually, we can. You had your annual check up recently, so I used some of the blood I took to do a pregnancy test, and it was positive," John replied. As Molly began to laugh and gave Mary a hug, John turned to the groom. "Sherlock, mate, are you ok?"

The detective blinked rapidly, swallowed, then spoke. "I'm going to be a father?"

"Yes!" Molly squealed, throwing her arms around her husband, and with that, he seemed to return to his usual self.

"We're going to need to baby-proof Baker Street further, we did it already for Emma, but that isn't going to be enough full-time, and do up John's old room as a nursery, actually -"

"Ssh, we've got months to think about all that," Molly smiled, placing a finger over his lips. "Let's go enjoy our sex holiday first."

"That sounds like a plan," Sherlock replied, placing a protective arm around Molly and escorting her to the car.

Watching their friends heading off, John turned to Mary. "God, I can only imagine the name that kid might get saddled with, if Sherlock chose to be called that over William or Scott..."

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_**A/N: I made you wait this long, so I thought I'd finally introduce Baby Hooper-Holmes XD**_


	21. CookingBaking

_**A/N: Back again! I'm so sorry for taking such a long break, just been so busy. But not to fear, I'm not giving up on this story, just having to do a bit when I can. As always, please leave a review :)**_

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"This is a ridiculous idea," Sherlock muttered under his breath, to which John Watson responded with a sympathetic nod.

"What was that sweetie?" Molly called from the kitchen, where she was busy baking with the help of Mary.

"Nothing!" Sherlock hastily replied, adding to John in an undertone "Does pregnancy increase women's hearing ability?"

"Not that I know of mate, but it does mean that they're way more hormonal, so whatever you do, don't piss her off."

After returning from their honeymoon (Sherlock had been banned from using the phrase 'sex holiday'), Molly and Sherlock had been faced with breaking the news of her pregnancy to their friends and family. Sherlock had suggested a mass text, stating that it would be "simple and efficient." But Molly had disagreed, and much to his dismay decided that they should have a get together at Baker Street where they could tell everyone their news in a "more personal way".

So it was that Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and high-functioning sociopath, was sitting in the middle of the lounge with John, carefully crafting origami dummies to put in the gift bags that had been made up by Molly.

"I don't see why we need to make up gift bags. I didn't think we'd be doing this until it's at least five" Sherlock whispered, careful to make sure that his wife didn't hear.

"She's excited Sherlock, she's wanted kids for years, let her enjoy it," John admonished, shaking his head. "In fact, I'm amazed you aren't more excited, first time father and all."

After his initial reaction to Molly's pregnancy, Sherlock had remained rather calm and unflustered by the whole affair.

"I am excited about becoming a father, I just don't understand the point of all this commercial nonsense," Sherlock replied sarkily.

Just then, Molly gave a cry, a sound that vaguely resembled her husband's name. In an instant, Sherlock had sprung over the kitchen worktop, and was frantically attempting to deduce what could possibly be wrong.

"Nothing's wrong," Molly stuttered, smiling. "I'm being silly, it's just that I felt the baby kick from the outside for the first time."

At these word's, Sherlock pressed both hands against her stomach, a look of awe coming over his face as he felt his child kick for the first time. "I-" he began, unable to continue.

Sensing the privacy of the moment, John and Mary excused themselves downstairs to Mrs Hudson's flat, citing the need for more milk.

When Sherlock could finally bring himself to move his hands, Molly giggled. "Look," she laughed, pointing at her rounded stomach, where a set of floury handprints had marked her black dress. "You must have got flour on your hands leaping over the work surface. I'll have to change, this dress is ruined."

"Well, in that case, I must assist you, Mrs Holmes," Sherlock replied with a sly smile, glancing towards the bedroom. "We've still got another hour until the guests arrive..."


	22. In Battle, Side-By-Side

_**A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the huuuge gap between updates, school, writer's block, and a whole variety of other reasons got in the way. Hope you enjoy this chapter, as always, reviews are appreciated :D (At the start of this chapter, Emma is two and Molly is 3/4 months pregnant)**_

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A couple of hours later, a crowd was gathering at 221B. Mycroft and Anthea had arrived first, Mycroft looking rather bewildered at the idea that he was about to be told something he didn't already know, Anthea looking concerned that they were being gathered so that some bad news could be broken to them. Mary and John had appeared soon after with now two-year old Emma, and Mrs Hudson, having heard the others arrive.

Next to arrive were Mr and Mrs Holmes, Violet rushing straight to Sherlock to check that he was ok, having been left worried after being invited for tea, a rare occurrence. Once she was satisfied that her son was safe, she took her place next to Siger on the sofa. The last to arrive was Lestrade, fashionably late. "Sorry everyone, there was a murder over at Leicester Square, but I handed the case over to Dimmock, so here I am," he apologised. At the mention of a murder, Sherlock's face lit up, but an elbow to the ribs from Molly stopped him from going any further.

After drinks had been served (non-alcoholic), the guests fell silent, anticipating the news that Sherlock and Molly had to share. Sherlock spoke first. "As you all know, I dislike social gatherings, but on this occasion, I felt compelled to bring you all here to tell you our news. Actually, that was a lie, Molly made me invite you all, I would have sent you all a text."

At this point, Molly interrupted. "What Sherlock is trying to say -" at this he received a pointed look. "-is that we have some exciting news to tell you all. We're expecting a baby!"

"Grandchildren!" Violet cried ecstatically, getting up and hugging first her son and then her daughter-in-law. "Yes mother, this year, your Christmas present will be your first grandchild - unless Mycroft and Anthea have beat us?" Sherlock sighed, raising an eyebrow in his brother's direction.

"No, brother mine, we have not. I cannot fathom how you managed to keep this from me though?" Mycroft replied, looking slightly miffed.

Meanwhile, Mrs Hudson embraced Molly, whilst reminding her, "I'm your landlady dear, not a babysitter." Later though, she would be heard excitedly discussing knitting patterns for baby clothes with Violet, the actual grandmother and the adopted one thrilled at the prospect of a new baby.

Lestrade could be seen shaking his head in disbelief, and muttering to John, "Christ, Sherlock with a baby? What could possibly go wrong?" although he was clearly chuffed to bits for one of his best mates, and Molly of course. Siger gave Molly a kiss on the cheek, and clapped Sherlock on the back, congratulating the pair with a smile on his face.

The rest of the party went well, with even Sherlock behaving for once, although as soon as his parents had left, he, John and Lestrade rushed off to the murder at Leicester Square, with Molly and Mary's permission of course.

xxx

Molly's pregnancy proceeded well, her bump blossoming until the tiny pathologist seemed to be nothing but it, and Sherlock keeping his word to avoid the most dangerous cases. At seven and a half months, Molly was still working at the morgue, determined to keep working and avoid the boredom of being stuck at home.

So it was that on a regular Tuesday morning, Molly was bustling around the lab, whilst Sherlock examined a body, John smiling at the way Sherlock couldn't focus as his attention was drawn to his wife, who it must be said seemed to be glowing.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out from the floor above, and screaming could be heard. Immediately, Sherlock went into action. "Molly, go and hide in the locker room, don't make a sound. John, you stay with her, while I help the police. You do have your gun on you?"

"'Course," John replied, putting a protective arm around a shaking Molly and guiding her towards the locker room. With that, Sherlock sprinted towards the stairs, dialling 999 as he went.

John was so focused on finding the most secure place to hide, didn't notice the pallor of Molly's face as it turned white, nor the pool of liquid that she was now standing in. It was only the pained sound that escaped her that drew his attention. "Molly, what's wrong?" he exclaimed, then noticed the floor. "Oh."

"My water's broke! I'm not even eight months!" she cried hysterically, eyes wide as she realised what was happening. Another burst of pain wracked her body and she howled, gripping John's hand and bending over.

Helping her to a dry patch of floor, John laid his coat down and helped her sit. "I'll phone Sherlock, and tell him what's happening." From above them, police sirens could be heard but no more gunshots. "It sounds like everything is under control, so just breath, and I'll get help," John placated her, rubbing her shoulders.

Just then, footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and Sherlock appeared, calmly stating, "Some idiot tried to rob the place, somehow thought it was a bank, the police have got him, no one is hurt, nothing to worry -" breaking off as he took in the situation before him.

"John, what's wrong, she can't be in labour, she's only seven and a half months," he spoke frantically, rushing to his wife's side.

"It seems the shock of what happened has caused premature labour. We need to get her upstairs, as soon as possible, it seems like things are progressing fast," John rattled off, switching into his doctor mode.

The pair stood Molly up and helped her out of her lab coat, Sherlock almost as white as his wife. Soon, they were in front of the reception desk, the area swamped with police officers. Lestrade spotted them and rushed over looking concerned. "What's happening?

John replied, recognising that the couple were in too much of a state of shock to answer. "The gunshots and screaming caused Molly to go into premature labour, we need to get her to the maternity ward."

Meanwhile, one of the receptionists had brought over a wheelchair and was helping Molly into it, reassuring her that everything would be ok. A quick phone call was made, and Molly was whisked away towards the maternity ward, Sherlock striding alongside, coat billowing out behind him, leaving a bewildered John and Lestrade behind.

"I suppose we should go get a coffee, even if it's a quick labour, it could still take a few hours," John said after a moment. "Trust Sherlock Holmes' baby to arrive in such dramatic fashion!"

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_**A/N: Thanks for reading! Sorry about the cliffhanger ;) There should be an update soon :D xx**_


	23. Arguing

_**A/N: Once again, so sorry for the huge gap between updates, my only explanation is life. Amongst all the royal baby excitement, it's almost time to meet Baby Holmes - enjoy!**_

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"How is she? Is everything ok? What's happening?" Sherlock practically shouted at the poor nurse, who was attempting to organise the chaos around her, whilst a nervous Sherlock pestered her for information.

Molly had been taken to an empty suite, and the doctor was currently examining her, whilst Sherlock interrogated the nurse, his anxiety causing the loss of the few manners he did possess.

"Your wife will be fine, Mr Holmes, just keep calm and everything will be okay," the nurse replied calmly, unfazed by his behaviour. After all, she dealt with expectant fathers every day. As she finished speaking, the doctor completed his examination, and stood back.

"Everything appears to be ok, Mr and Mrs Holmes, baby is fine and labour is progressing normally, despite being premature," the doctor said with a smile. "You aren't at the delivery stage yet, and probably won't be for another hour at least. I will be back in about half an hour to check on you, but in the mean time, Beth will remain with you, so if there are any problems, or you have any questions, you can speak to her."

"Thank you doctor," Molly said, a lot calmer now that everything was under control, although her composed state may also have been the result of whatever it was they had injected her with when she arrived. Sherlock merely nodded tensely as the doctor took his leave.

Suddenly, Molly grimaced as a wave of contractions started, and Sherlock rushed to her side, offering her his hand which she crushed in a vice-like grip, whilst he gritted his teeth, hoping that she wouldn't break his fingers.

"Remember Molly, breath in, and then out," the nurse said gently, reassuring her, to which Sherlock rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue, stopping himself from reminding the woman that his wife wasn't stupid, and had attended several pre-natal classes.

Taking a deep breath, Molly regained her composure as the contractions lessened, loosening her grip on her husband's hand. "How long is this supposed to last?" she asked the nurse with a smile.

"A while yet dear," she replied kindly. "For the next lot of contractions, how about we try some whale music?"

At this, Sherlock couldn't contain himself. "Whale music? It has been scientifically proven that whale music is no better for easing labour than -"

"Sherlock," Molly said warningly, raising an eyebrow. Then she spoke to the nurse. "Yes please, I'd like to try that."

"Has giving birth made you lose your mind?" Sherlock exclaimed, then fell silent at the look she gave him.

So it was that the whale noises were played, and as the next wave of contractions started, Molly still grimaced and shouted and swore, proving, at least to Sherlock that all these modern, new-age techniques didn't work.

As his wife groaned in pain, Sherlock made the seriously bad point of mentioning this. "See, I told you that these ridiculous methods are ineffective, and Molly is still in as much pain as she was without them. The only difference is that I now have to suffer through them!"

At this, Molly lost her temper, her usually patient nature forgotten. "For God's sake Sherlock! I wouldn't be in this pain if it wasn't for you!"

"Well, actually Molly -"

"Don't 'actually Molly' me! Get out, now!" Molly shouted, gesturing towards the door, looking rather fierce.

"But-"

"Go!"

And so it was that a rather indignant Sherlock was shooed from the room by the nurse, and left to go and find John in the cafe until his wife had calmed down a bit.

Upon his arrival at the cafe, Sherlock was greeted with cheers from John, Lestrade, Mary and Emma, the last two who had been summoned by a text from John. "So is it a girl or a boy?" John asked excitedly, whilst the women grinned.

"My offspring has not yet arrived, but Molly has banished me from the room for the time being after I expressed my opinions on whale music," Sherlock said with a sneer.

"Oh, Sherlock, trust you!" Lestrade grinned, shaking his head.

"I'm sure she'll come around in a bit, just give her some space, at least until she starts delivery," Mary said, raising an eyebrow.

About an hour later, the group were sat in nervous silence, still awaiting word that it was okay for Sherlock to return. Suddenly, his phone rang. Everyone listened intently as Sherlock answered.

"Hello?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there, you'll be fine."

"Love you too, see you in a minute."

Hanging up, Sherlock turned to his friends, who were all looking very excited. "She's about to begin delivery," he told them, his face completely white, and looking as terrified as any of them had ever seen him.

John clapped him on the back, giving him an encouraging smile. "You look as scared as I did when Emma was born. Don't worry, you'll be fine, Molly will do great, and next time I see you, you'll be a father."

Mary and Lestrade gave their similar sentiments, and then Emma reached up for a hug, and said good luck.

As he walked away, Sherlock braced himself for the life changing moment that was fast approaching. "Here we go," he thought to himself, and smiled.

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_**A/N: Slight cliffhanger! What do you think it will be, boy or girl? ;) Please review, I always enjoy reading them :)**_


	24. Making Up Afterwards

_**A/N: Hello again everyone! I know it has been a long time since I updated, but life just got very busy, so please forgive me. Please read, enjoy and leave a review! :)**_

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A tentative knock on the door sounded Sherlock's arrival. "Come on in," called the doctor, after which Sherlock stepped into the room, looking slightly concerned that his wife was waiting on the other side of the door to attack him.

What actually greeted him was a sweaty, red-faced Molly, who had never looked more beautiful to Sherlock than at that moment. Managing to smile at him, Molly gestured for him to take her hand, everything forgiven, as she prepared to deliver their baby.

"Push now," said the nurse calmly, as Sherlock took his place next to Molly, looking petrified but proud, squeezing her hand almost as tightly as she was gripping his. After an intense few minutes, the doctor beamed at the couple, announcing that he could see the head and that Baby Holmes would be here any second now.

"This is it," Sherlock whispered to Molly, brushing a kiss on her forehead as she gave a final push, and Baby Hooper-Holmes was born.

There was a tense moment of silence, then a loud cry filled the room, as the cord was cut and Baby Hooper-Holmes was cleaned and wrapped in a blanket, then placed in Molly's arms. "Congratulations to you both, you are now the proud parents of a beautiful baby boy!" the nurse exclaimed, stepping out of the room with the doctor to allow the couple a moment of privacy.

"Oh, he's beautiful," Molly whispered, gently cradling her newborn son, soothing him as he quietened. "Look Sherlock, he's got your curls!" When there was no reply, she looked up to see Sherlock looking blank, unblinking.

"Sherlock? Are you okay sweetie?" she asked, placing a gentle hand on his arm to reassure him. Slowly, he nodded, seeming to return to reality, unable to tear his eyes away from the baby, his son.

After a pause, Sherlock spoke. "Until this moment, I had always been sceptical of parents who claim that their child is perfect, but I can understand the sentiment now." At this, Molly felt herself welling up, she knew Sherlock found it difficult to deal with emotions, but this was his way of saying that he loved their child, as she had known he would.

"Would you like to hold your son?" Molly asked, raising the tiny bundle up towards Sherlock, who hesitantly took him from her, drawing him in close against his chest. As the baby settled against his father, his little mouth formed a perfect 'o' as he yawned, closing his eyes, so that his lilac lids were showing.

"Oh, you both look adorable," Molly sighed peacefully, "He knows you're his daddy, he's so comfortable around you."

"Daddy?" Sherlock repeated, seeming more like his usual self. "Do I seem like a daddy to you?"

"Well, father is too formal" Molly retorted with a smile, then laughed, "Or you could be popkins?"

"I suppose daddy is acceptable," Sherlock sighed. "I expect that he'll be able to say that within a few months."

"A few months? I wouldn't have thought so," Molly said.

"Well, Mycroft and I were forming full sentences within a year, and you are smarter than father was, so his genes should be better. I'm expecting him to be reading before three," Sherlock responded.

"Hmm, we'll see," Molly laughed. "And we'll need to think of a name so he isn't just 'he' for the rest of his life."

Suddenly, Molly felt a sharp pain, like another round of contractions. "Aargh!" she exclaimed, reaching out for her husband.

Panic crossing his face, Sherlock pressed the call button, keeping his son tucked securely in the crook of his arm. "What is it Molly?" he asked, concerned.

Grimacing, she replied through gritted teeth. "It feels like another contraction!" Just then, the nurse arrived, rushing over to the new parents. After quickly comforting Molly, the nurse placed a stethoscope on Molly's stomach, listening carefully.

"It appears that you are having twins," the nurse said after a moment.

"What?!" shouted Sherlock, "How on earth was this not noticed before now?"

"Well, it's quite common with twins, one hides the other. And they are often premature, which may have contributed to the early arrival. Now, Molly, I need you to prepare to deliver again, so Mr Holmes, could you please place your son in the cot, and hold her hand," the nurse instructed him.

In a matter of moments, the next baby was crowning, and a within a couple of minutes, the second baby had been born and was crying whilst being swaddled, before being passed to an shocked but pleased Molly.

"One of each," smiled the nurse, placing a baby girl into Molly's arms, and fetching the baby boy, who she passed to Sherlock.

Once the placenta had been delivered, and everything had been cleaned, the nurse left the couple alone, promising to bring the visitors through once the couple had had some time alone.

"Well, Molly, you never do anything by halves," Sherlock grinned, gazing down at his wife and baby daughter, whilst gently rocking his son.

Still slightly in shock, Molly managed a smile, replying "We've been twice as lucky, they're beautiful. And little drama queens like their father, given the way they've chosen to enter the world!"

The new parents spent another ten minutes alone with the twins, before deciding to put the others out of their misery and allow them to meet the new additions. Deciding to surprise the others, Sherlock placed their daughter in a cot, leaving Molly holding their son, so that when the others entered, they wouldn't immediately realise that there were two babies.

First in were Violet and Siger, Violet immediately taking the boy from Sherlock, delicately cradling her first grandchild whilst congratulating her son and daughter-in-law, her husband quietly by her side bending to kiss his grandson's head.

The grandparents were followed by Mycroft, Anthea, Lestrade, John and Mary (Emma had been left in the hospital crèche and would be brought up with Mrs Hudson when she arrived, allowing the adults to meet the baby in peace), who all offered their congratulations before gathering around Violet to meet the baby.

"Blimey, he certainly looks like you," John said, as took over holding the baby from Violet.

"I don't know, he's got the curls, but the eyes are definitely Molly," Lestrade added.

Whilst everyone was fussing over the little boy, Sherlock quietly retrieved his daughter from the cot. John was the first to notice, glancing between the baby being held by Mary, and the bundle in Sherlock's arms.

"Hang on a second, there are two?" John exclaimed, staring at Sherlock as if trying to decide whether Sherlock would steal a baby just to wind him up.

"Oh my gosh!" shrieked Violet, then in a quieter tone whispered "Twins!"

"Yes mother, meet my daughter," Sherlock replied, passing the baby carefully to his mother and grinning at Molly proudly. The little girl looked more like Molly, with light brown hair, but she had her father's stunning green-blue eyes, her features the reverse of her brother's.

Whilst they all passed the babies around, Mary asked Molly about the birth, checking she was okay, and carefully braiding her hair so that it looked neat for the photos that Violet was insisting on of her new grandchildren. Siger made everyone laugh by commenting, "Honestly, she nags you for grandchildren for years, and then you give her two at once!"

Within fifteen minutes, everyone but Mycroft had held the new additions. "Come on brother, don't you want to hold your niece and nephew?" Sherlock asked with a grin.

"I don't want my suit to be ruined!" Mycroft retorted, looking horrified at the very thought.

"Well, you're going to have to get used to it, unless Anthea has just put on a few pounds," Sherlock responded with a sly grin.

"Oh, Anthea!" exclaimed the women, whilst Mycroft turned white.

"I was going to tell you soon," Anthea said with a sheepish grin. "You're going to be a father." Mycroft managed a smile, although looked a bit faint as he took a seat.

As they all congratulated Anthea, Violet began to ask whether they were going to get married. At this, Mycroft looked up, almost offended. "Of course we will, my child will not be born out of wedlock!"

At this, Anthea shot him a glare. He stuttered, retreating on his previously certain stance. "That it, if she will have me?"

Her expression softening, Anthea smiled at him, "Of course, dear, why didn't you ask sooner?" As more congratulations were offered, Molly looked on serenely, perfectly happy despite the attention being drawn away from the new arrivals. Sherlock grinned at his brother, patting him on the back before taking his son from Anthea with a smile.

Just then, Mrs Hudson arrived with Emma in tow, beaming at the sight of Sherlock holding his son. "Oh, he's gorgeous!" she exclaimed, rushing over and gently hugging the new father. Sherlock passed him to her. "What's his name?"

Sherlock stood by Molly, and she gave him a nod before he spoke. Gesturing towards his son, Sherlock proudly announced, "This is Jonathan Siger Gregory Hooper-Holmes."

Registering the acknowledgement, John and Siger beamed, unable to speak. Greg on the other hand did manage an exclamation of "So you do know my name!"

Sherlock met this with a cheeky grin, and said "What do you mean?" before Molly elbowed him and said "Of course Gregory is referring to you!"

"It's a lovely name, if a bit of a mouthful," Mary said smiling, "Emma, would you like to meet Jonathan?" Emma, who until now had hidden close to her mother toddled forwards towards Uncle 'Lock, who scooped up his goddaughter and went to stand by Mrs Hudson.

"Emma, this is Jonathan, Jonathan, this is Emma," he said, as Emma planted a sloppy kiss on Jonathan's head, raising a laugh from the women.

"Watch out Jonathan, Emma's got her eye on you!" Greg warned with a smile.

Whilst all this was going on, Mrs Hudson had been so focused on Jonathan, she hadn't registered the baby girl being cradled by Siger. "Mrs Hudson, I would also like to introduce you to Adelaide Martha Violet Hooper-Holmes, or Addie for short," Molly said smiling, gesturing towards her daughter.

"Oh, twins! How wonderful!", Mrs Hudson exclaimed, rushing over to Molly, who Siger had passed Addie to. "And making Martha her middle name!

"Addie, meet your nana," Molly said gently, "That is, assuming you would like to be their adopted grandmother?"

Tears in her eyes, Mrs Hudson agreed enthusiastically, hugging Violet, who would be known as Grandma. "And while we are assigning roles, we would like to ask Greg, John and Mycroft to be godfathers, and Anthea and Mary to be godmothers?" Sherlock asked them, and was greeted with nods all around.

Two days later, Sherlock placed Jonathan into one baby carrier, whilst Molly placed Addie into the extra one which had been purchased the day after they were born, preparing to return to Baker Street. "We are going to need a lot of extra stuff, not to mention extra space," Molly mentioned offhand to Sherlock as they strapped their children in.

"Well, it's a good thing I've spoken to Mrs Hudson about renting 221C then, isn't it?" Sherlock replied with a grin. "Mycroft has already ordered an extra of everything we will need two of, and the single pram has been returned for a twin pram."

"I'm glad someone is organised, I'm still getting over the surprise of twins!" Molly laughed, picking up Addie's carrier.

An hour later, they arrived at 221B, each carrying a baby, the rest of their belongings having been transported by one of Mycroft's men to save them something to worry about.

Once they were inside, Molly took Jonathan and Addie out of their carriers, holding a tiny baby in the crook of each arm, and settled on the sofa, content to just sit with her babies.

Sherlock joined her a moment later, gently placing an arm around her shoulders so as not to wake the sleeping babies. Gazing at his wife and two beautiful children, Sherlock couldn't quite imagine how life could get any better than it was, and wondering how he could ever have thought that caring was a disadvantage.

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_**A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Sorry again for the huge break, I can't guarantee regular updates, but I will try and get this story completed within the next year. Please leave a review! :)**_


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